


A Belstaff and Scalpels

by mellovesall



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform, mollock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-13 04:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 25,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4508712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellovesall/pseuds/mellovesall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlolly drabbles and ficlets. Will range from T to M-rated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tumblr Sherlolly Appreciation Week, Day 1: Their First Meeting

A/N: Hello, this is my first attempt at writing Sherlolly, so I hope you like it

"Fate"

~~~~~~~~

Molly made her way up the escalator of the St. Bartholomew's tube stop. As she was pushed towards the exit, within the massive rush of the early morning commute, she could just make out dark skies and the sound of pouring rain.

Oh no, she thought. Of course it would be raining. First, because they were in London, secondly, she forgot to put her umbrella into her commuter bag and thirdly but no less important, it was her first day at her new job as a full fledged Specialist Registrar receiving her specialty training at St. Bart's Hospital.

Could her morning be any more nerve wracking?

She made her way to the small magazine and snack tube shop, hoping to find an umbrella. Apparently, a lot of other people had the same idea and she was lucky to even find a newspaper she could buy.

Standing off to the right of the exit she looked across the street to the hospital then took a deep breath and girded herself enough to make a run for it.

As she stepped off the sidewalk a long, tall coat with arms and an umbrella enveloped her from behind.

"What?" She exclaimed as she was gently nudged forward towards St. Bart's. She glanced all the way up the lapel of an exquisitely made coat, the softest looking blue scarf to the alabaster white neck and model sharp cheek bones surrounded by a shock of the darkest, most luscious curls a man could ever have.

"What...?" was all she could get out before this whirlwind of a male looked down at her and with the most incredibly intelligent and piercing blue eyes, devoured her. Yes, her father would tell her she was being overdramatic, but it felt like he was devouring her. She had to look away from his intensity.

Those eyes roamed every inch of her face before he said in a low, deep baritone that vibrated through both of their coats, "Please don't say what, again."

"Wha..." His sharp gaze stopped her.

"My mother always attempted to drill manners into me and apparently it worked to some extent." He explained as he walked them towards the main entrance of St. Bart's. "I noticed you didn't have an umbrella and that newspaper would soak through within minutes in this downpour."

"Oh." Was the only thing Molly could muster in response to being manhandled and brought to exactly where she needed to be.

"How?" She said stunned as she looked around the warm and dry lobby of the hospital.

"Your bag has a St. Bart's logo on it and you have the look of a medical professional in need of a good nap. Good day."

"What?" She whispered to his back as he walked away leaving her to wonder who he was and what just happened.


	2. Chapter 2

Tumblr Sherlolly Appreciation Week, Day 2: Established Sherlolly Can't Keep Their Hands To Themselves.

"My Pleasure"

~~~~~

"Your coffee. Medium. Mocha with whip." Sherlock said somewhere near her ear as he leaned over her shoulder to set her cup on the table in front of where she sat working with her microscope.

"So lovely." She said as she turned her head towards his voice not realizing how close his face was to hers. Her words gently spoken against his cheek. His skin freshly shaven and as smooth as a baby's bottom. Molly couldn't resist, she slid her mouth down the length of his jaw. "Thank you, Sherlock."

He slowly turned his face to capture those tantalizing lips. A sweet, soft press followed by his slow suck and pull of her lush lower lip.

"My pleasure, Molly Hooper." He said as he watched her tongue lick across her now throbbing lip, as if savoring his taste. How could he ever have thought they were too small?

Clearing his throat and standing up straight Sherlock said, "Yes, well, is the body Gavin requested I look at here yet?"

"You mean Greg." Molly pointed out.

"Yes, Graham's new murder case. Is it ready?" Sherlock said over his shoulder as he walked to the double doors leading to the morgue. A huge smile spread across her face as Molly thought how her day couldn't have started out any more perfectly. Coffee and Sherlock Holmes.


	3. Chapter 3

Tumblr Sherlolly Appreciation Week, Day 3: First Kiss

A/N: Occurs the night of The Reichenbach Fall.

"Dreams So Sweet"

~~~~~~~~~~

Molly paced back and forth in the small living room of her one bedroom flat. She abruptly stopped as a horrible thought came to mind, that perhaps she had missed something important in all the planning she and Sherlock had done the day before.

No, they had gone over every detail over and over. His delay must be a result of Mycroft's security concerns. Yes, that is it. He's safely in the hands of Mycroft. He's okay.

As she restarted her nervous pacing her cell phone rang two times then stopped. She waited anxiously till it rang again two times and cut off. Relief flooded through her, he was nearby. She rushed to her front door to wait for his knock.

When it came, she immediately opened the door to let in a dirty homeless man with long, filthy matted hair and an unkempt beard. Molly shut the door and turned to see Sherlock Holmes standing in her small hallway looking pale and haggard. She took a quick inventory, no blood and no broken bones that she could see.

"Sherlock." Molly said gently. She wanted to hug him and touch him to make sure he was okay, but that wasn't their relationship.

"Molly." He said, his voice lower than she ever thought possible. "How are you?" he asked after a moments pause.

Molly couldn't help but smile at the polite conversation they were having. "I'm okay Sherlock. Are you?"

"May I use your shower?" He asked.

"Shower? Yes, yes of course you can."

"I'll explain everything." He said as he turned towards her living room then turned back to her, "But, can I have that shower first?"

Molly walked past him leading him towards the small bathroom in the back of her flat. They both hesitated outside the door to the tiny room. "Um, there should be clean towels. I'll make us some tea while you tidy up." She turned not waiting for his response.

Her hands automatically began to set up tea as she pondered what could be going on. Had he hurt himself? Did John find out? But he was in disguise, so the plan must still be moving forward. She didn't realize she had been lost in thought so long till the kettle started to whistle.

She set down the tray of hot water and biscuits on the living room table then sat down on the couch.

Sherlock walked into the room wearing the dark slacks and shirt that he had given her to keep for him, the day before. His curls still damp from the shower.

She couldn't recall any other time that Sherlock Holmes had ever appeared so, well, tired. When he didn't immediately sit down she moved over and patted the space next to her on the couch. "Sit."

As she reached for the kettle to pour the hot water, Sherlock sat down and laid his head on the back of the sofa with a huge sigh. She knew she would be exhausted from all the intricate mechanisms of carrying out ones own "death," but Sherlock normally thrived on such things. Yet, he wasn't thriving now.

She encouraged him to eat something while she waited patiently in silence for him to talk.

It was a strange situation to be in. She, Molly Hooper, didn't sit in her home with THE Sherlock Holmes attempting to encourage him after his entire world had been destroyed.

"Everyone is safe for now, Molly," he said, startling her out of her ruminations.

"Mycroft let me know about Moriarty's suicide," she responded as she met his eyes.

"Yes, his suicide. I don't know what to think about that. The biggest hurdle is obviously taken care of, Moriarty is no longer alive, but his evil…it's still out there. The head of the snake is cut off, but its body is still twisting and able to curl itself around those I care about."

"I had never truly considered the fact, that because of my line of work I could lose my family. I don't just mean Mycroft and my parents, I mean John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and you, Molly." Sherlock explained, flashes of anger and pain swirling in his eyes.

"I have to kill the rest of the snake. I leave in a few hours. Before sunrise." Sherlock said as he raised his arms from where they lay on his knees to rest his palms against his tired eyes.

Molly tried to keep all the emotions she had for this man in check. Her fears, desires, and especially her dreams. He didn't need her to break down. He needed her strength to propel him towards what he needed to do. Her heart ached, but she reached out to pull his hand down from his eyes so he could look at her. "You do realize that I know you're alive Sherlock. I know you exist in the world and l will be waiting for you to come home."

His eyes darkened with an emotion that was too late in coming, but one she would cherish and take out of her memory palace on days when her worry for him would overwhelm her.

"Okay, you need some rest. Sunrise will be here faster than you expect. Here, have the couch or would you like to sleep in my bed? I mean, not with me of course, but it's bigger and I can take the couch." Molly stopped rambling as a small smile formed on his lips.

"I'll take the couch."

As she stood up he asked, "Molly, could you…sit with me?"

"Alright." She went to her bedroom to get some pillows and blankets and when she returned to the living room Sherlock was already laid out and asleep on the couch.

She quietly sat down across from him and allowed herself the freedom to just look at him. Her eyes drinking in every detail. She already knew every curve and plane, but she had never seen a completely relaxed and sleeping Sherlock. She felt honored that he felt safe enough with her to fall asleep.

A few hours later Molly woke in her chair from a bittersweet dream where Sherlock had placed her favorite red blanket over her and kissed her goodbye. She swore she could still feel his lips on hers. She slowly sat up to check on him when she noticed the red blanket draped over her. She quickly looked over at her couch to see it empty. He was gone.

Molly laid back down gathering the folds of her blanket around herself. She caught the faintest scent of his cologne as her first tear fell.


	4. Chapter 4

Tumblr Sherlolly Appreciation Week, Day 5: Sherlolly But Focus on Molly

A/N: Set after His Last Vow

"What I Need"

~~~~~~~~~~~

There were three quick knocks against John's bedroom door. "Come in." Molly said as she threw her clothes into her suitcase.

"You can't leave." Sherlock stated as he stood ominously in the doorway.

Molly's hands froze over her bag, inhaling deeply she turned to face the brick wall blocking her way home.

"Sherlock, I can't live like this." Molly said beseeching him to understand where she was coming from.

"If you don't, you won't live at all."

"Sherlock, I appreciate all that you've done and what you continue to do for me, but I'm going insane! You forced me to stay here, you won't let me leave Baker Street, I can't go to work, I can't even go next door to Speedy's to get a Coke."

"Moriarty, Molly." Sherlock said, his voice lower than usual, thick with emotion as he walked into the room and stood in front of her.

"I'm trying everything that I can to find him. That video broadcast left little to nothing clues and ..." Sherlock's voice trailed off as Molly's hand lifted to rest on his chest.

"I can't live in fear Sherlock. If I do, he wins."

Sherlock's eyes closed at her words. When they opened again, all she could see was conviction and fortitude.

He placed his hand over hers and moved in closer so she was forced to tilt her head back.

"Give me a week. I need to keep you safe." He asked. "Molly. Please."

How could she say no to him? After a moment, she acquiesced. She nodded her assent as she resolved to be unshakable and not just for herself but for him as well. She needed to help, not hinder. She moved to pull her hand down, but Sherlock held fast.

She didn't know what to think as he folded her within the warmest hug. Her head coming to rest over his heart, its slightly elevated beat soothing.

She hadn't realized that this… was what she had needed. Funny how Sherlock did.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlolly Appreciation Week, Day 7: Free Choice

A/N: Sherlock, Suspenders and Molly Hooper.

"All I Ever Need"

~~~~~~~~~~

"Molly, I don't believe I need to attend another St. Bart's function ever again." Sherlock said as he pulled his bow tie loose while they entered their apartment at 221B Street.

"You're just upset that no one dropped dead during the two hour ceremony." Molly responded as she placed her evening bag on the counter and started to take off her high heels.

"Mmm, that had occurred to me but no, they were just incredibly boring people. St. Bart's is better for having you," he said as he slid off his tuxedo jacket and placed it over the back of John's chair.

"Sherlock, if I didn't know any better I'd think you were trying to butter me up. A lovely dinner out, you graciously go with me to a work function and now, a high complement indeed." Molly said as she looked up to see Sherlock coatless, his black suspenders standing out against the pristine white of his dress shirt. Molly loved it when he wore suspenders. It wasn't often, but when he did all she wanted to do was take them off. Very, very slowly.

She walked over and gently placed her hands on his chest. Her palms leisurely smoothing over the soft, tuxedo shirt that was warm from his body. She could feel every little tremor as his body reacted to her touch. "So, now that I'm all buttered up. What do you need?" she teased as she looked up into his brilliant blue eyes.

"Sherlock?" Molly said a little breathlessly as she watched his eyes quickly darken with interest and mutual need.

"Yes, Molly." Sherlock purred in that gorgeous baritone that caressed her in all the right places. His strong, beautiful hands ran down her slender back to encircle her waist and pulled her close.

"What do you need?" she raggedly whispered as she took hold of his suspenders and pulled him down towards her kiss. He stopped inches from her lips, his eyes sweeping over her loveliness. From her expressive brown eyes that were currently telling him just how much she adored his suspenders, over the luxurious mane of hair and then down the curve of her cheek and the delicate line of her neck.

"You." He said as his eyes found hers again right before their lips met. His kiss deep and lush setting her ablaze. Colors streaked across her closed eyes as their simmering passion caught fire.

Hours later, the fingers of a beautiful sunrise spread across their bedroom touching two pairs of legs intertwined and peeking out from under silk sheets.


	6. Chapter 6

"A Goodbye"

**AU Sherlolly. The Sign of Three episode.**

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Molly sat alone at a table in the back of the intimately decorated ballroom taking a short break from all the dancing and merriment. Tom was enjoying a spin round the dance floor with someone's lovely matron aunt.

He was a kind man. A good man, but… not the man for her. Apparently, she had a type. High functioning sociopaths.

She had struggled with her doubts after the engagement and well, after today's events her decision was made. She felt relief at making up her mind, but sadness quickly followed with the knowledge that she would end up hurting him.

The wedding had been beautiful and of course how could there have been a wedding of John Watson without a crime to solve.

She shook her head slightly as she smiled at the memory of Sherlock's best man's speech. She had worried for him, even going so far as to mention her fears to both Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade.

She clearly should have known better. She knew Sherlock cared for John and they all were able to see just how much today. In his socially awkward, unpredictable and yet, loving way Sherlock had made the most incredible dedication to a friend, Molly had ever witnessed.

"It was perfect." She muttered to herself.

"What was perfect, Molly?" asked Sherlock as he sat down next to her. His deep baritone sending small shivers down her spine.

Under the table, Molly's skirt gently swayed against his tuxedo trousers as she turned towards him. "Oh, hello there. Your speech, of course."

"Perfect, was it." Sherlock said as their eyes met. She could see the pleasure at her words flash across his brilliant eyes, but sadness hovered around the edges as well.

She reacted as she always did to seeing Sherlock in pain. She wanted to comfort and help him. She reached out and placed her hand on top of his where it rested on the dinner table. "Yes, perfect Sherlock."

At the touch of her small, warm hand over his, Sherlock thickly swallowed back the emotions only she seemed to make him feel. Of course Molly would see past his typical facade to the slightly messy bundle of a man he was tonight. For weeks now, he had been fluctuating between resisting change as strongly as possible and wishing John and Mary his absolute best. During today's ceremony, he had finally come to peace with the fact that with this change, his life would be infinitely richer. His family had just grown a little bit bigger, especially with the unknown package that would be arriving in 8 months.

Sherlock glanced down and took a moment to follow the delicate line of Molly's arm from where her hand lay upon his. He could see that the constant tension that she had been carrying lately seemed to be gone. Her breathing was calmer, her shoulders relaxed and her fingers steady upon his, displayed her quiet contentment. Something had changed and he believed he knew exactly what. He wasn't the only one who had come to an important decision today.

Gently squeezing Molly's hand in gratefulness and shared understanding, Sherlock rose from his chair and held his hand out to her. "Would you like to dance, Molly Hooper?"

Molly looked over to see Tom still enjoying his dance partner and then turned to Sherlock and gently placed her hand into his. "Perhaps one dance."

As Sherlock led her to the dance floor where he surprisingly twisted her in a perfectly graceful turn before gently pulling her loosely into his arms, Molly felt the happiest she had in ages. Yes, her decision was made.


	7. Chapter 7

"Walls Come Tumbling Down"

***Prompt: Quote: "He knew that I love you also means I love you in a way that no one loves you, or has loved you, or will love you, and also, I love you in a way that I love no one else, and never have loved anyone else, and never will love anyone else."— Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything is Illuminated..***

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock sat down in one of the luxury seats of the sleek, government jet that would be taking him off to his punishment, his exile, and undoubtedly his death. His hands shook. His emotions were slipping through the cracks that were spreading through and crumbling the walls he had erected around his heart the night he shot Magnussen. The night he lost everything.

He was able to keep them all in, while saying goodbye to John and Mary, but just barely. He was grateful to Mycroft for honoring his wishes to not have the one person who mattered the most see him before he left.

Sherlock looked out the small aircraft window, not seeing anything. His mind full of images of his parents, Mycroft, Mary and John. What he had been trying very, very hard to block, but what was quickly becoming impossible to continue doing, was blocking images of Molly Hooper.

"Molly." His pain, entwined with her name, echoed along the empty fuselage of the aircraft.

He knew what he was feeling. He grew up understanding other people's need for it and also his need to not need it.

Love.

He succeeded at ignoring it with his parents. He did an excellent job not feeling it at all for his brother and up until the day he met her, his Medical Examiner, he was in total control of it.

With beautiful, lush sable hair, pink tinted lips, a sharp yet empathetic intelligence and a softly spoken hello, she had shattered a lifetime of barriers and thorns and had not even known it.

Sherlock could feel the rumble of the engines starting and fought the urge to get off the plane and jump in one of the cars and find his way to Molly. He closed his eyes against the tidal wave of heartache that came over him when thinking of her. He would not have been able to leave if he had seen her. This moment, with his psyche devastated and broken, he finally acknowledged… he loved her like no one else and never would love anyone…but her.


	8. Chapter 8

"A Rainy Day"

**prompt: Sherlock decides to make it a point to compliment Molly each day, but she doesn't realize he's complimenting her at first. Slowly, though, she does and she wonders why he's being so nice to her. Turns out he's trying to get the nerve to tell her how he really feels.**

**Sherlolly. Tom doesn't exist.**

~~~~~~~~~

Molly trudged through the halls, soaked to the bone, after running through the rain to the hospital from the Tube. A sudden spring time down pore during her morning commute had her shoes making squishy noises as she walked to her office. Goosebumps erupted along her arms as she pushed the doors of the morgue open and walked in. She almost groaned at the sight of a very dry and very handsome Sherlock Holmes sitting at his normal place at the far end of her lab.

Why? Why, on a day where she looked like a drowned rat and felt like a waterlogged sponge did he have to be here?

She walked right by him without her typical greeting. Nope, not going to make eye contact. Maybe he would get the hint that she was not in the mood for his style of company today.

She peeled off her soaking wet jacket and hung it on the coat rack then pushed her trash can under it to catch the drops of liquid. She lifted her hands to pull the damp strands of her hair from where they clung to her neck and stopped mid-way. Sherlock had followed her as far as her doorway where he was quietly leaning against her doorjamb. His eyes surreptitiously making a sweep of her damp body.

"Um, hello Molly, you look…. nice." He said as he tried not to look too closely at her clinging silk blouse and where her nipples were straining against the cold in the room.

"Sherlock, I need to take a moment and get situated. I am sorry if you have been waiting fo.."

"Alright." He said breaking her off mid sentence.

Molly stood watching him walk back to his chair. No argument. No rushing her to bend to his schedule.

She shook her head at the oddity of his behavior lately. What was going on with him? The past two weeks he had been acting so out of character. He brought her coffee during one of their all nighters in the office, he had mentioned the impeccable organization of her lab, and just yesterday he had thanked her for placing clean petri dishes by his microscope.

And this morning he tells her she looks…nice. Something must be terribly wrong. She tidied up as soon as she could and then asked him to come into her office.

Sherlock walked in and turned to look at her with questions in his eyes.

"Join the club." Molly said as she closed the door to her office. Sherlock tilted his head to the side as he tried to figure out what was happening.

"Sherlock. Are you okay?" Molly asked as she placed her hand gently on his arm. "I hope you know you can talk to me if something is bothering you. Is it John? Mary? I know change can be difficult and relationships change and grow, but you do know that John adores you, right?"

"How about you?"

"What?" Molly whispered as she released her hold on him and stepped back. Sherlock did not allow her to go very far. He followed her till her back met the door and there was no personal space left. Only stunned eyes blinking up at ones that were turning green with warmth and hope. Hope? Why would Sherlock be hoping for her answer?

"Sherlock, I don't understand?" She said as she watched in fascination as his hand reached up to grasp the end of her pony tail. Her chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths as he slowly curled it, once, twice..around his wrist. Each twist pulling her closer and closer till her body was flush against his, her head pulled back so their lips were inches from each other.

"Do you understand now?"

"Yes." She whispered back as she stood on the tips of her toes and closed the distance to his lips.


	9. Chapter 9

"A Night To Remember"

Sherlolly prompt #2: Sherlock inherits a rare book from a relative he doesn't know he has, and when he tells Molly he wants to sell it she offers to buy it off of him. He refuses to sell it to her and she gets upset, but a few days later the book in question is gift-wrapped and sitting on her desk at St. Bart's with a note explaining he couldn't take money from her over something that would mean the world to her.

~~~~~~~~~~

Molly was only half listening to Sherlock and John's voices in the lab as she tried to finish up paperwork in her small office at the back of the morgue. End of the month reports were the bane of her existence. If she could just concentrate on bodies, her life would be ten times easier.

Snippets of their conversation floated by. Exotic Uncle, Poirot and Christmas...at the word Christmas, an old memory came to life and Molly carefully set down her pen. Emotions begun to unfold like the petals of a beautiful flower as the sun's rays kissed it.

Images of blinking colored lights on a tree, hot chocolate with mini-marshmallows and the beloved sound of her Dad reading to her, flashed through her mind.

She stood up and walked out to see John leaving. "See you later Molly. Off to meet Mary."

"Bye." She said as she waved to the flapping doors of the lab.

She turned to see Sherlock looking at her expectantly. How did he always seem to know. "Yes, Molly?"

"I thought I heard you mention something about Hercule Poirot's Christmas? The Agatha Christie novel?"

"I apparently had an eccentric uncle, very unusual for the Holmes family I know, who collected rare books. Upon his death six months ago, one of his first edition collection novels was bequeathed to me. He obviously thought I would enjoy a novel about an odd, eccentric Belgian detective." Sherlock said with his typical dry delivery.

"Oh Sherlock, it's a wonderful mystery." She said, her eyes twinkling and her hands moving in excitement, as she sat down on the stool next to him. "My father used to read the book to me every Christmas holiday. It's a "who done it" with a murder committed in a locked room… I.. had stopped reading it every year after my Dad passed away."

The sparkle from her eyes dimmed as she thought of the last few years without her Dad and the loneliness and loss she felt especially during the holidays.

"It's a good memory to have of your father." Sherlock said softly, hoping to take away the sadness he saw. He never wanted to see Molly hurt, ever again. Not if he could help it.

A sad smile spread across her face as Molly shook her head in agreement.

"A first edition Agatha Christie novel should secure quite the sum."

"You're going to sell it?" Molly asked.

"I had considered it, yes."

"Would you consider selling it to me?"

"Molly, I...I'm still thinking about it." He hesitated, because he was pretty sure the message blinking on his cell phone was left by his lawyer telling him he found a buyer willing to secure the book for 3000 pounds.

"Oh, ok then. Um, good luck then." Molly said as she fidgeted with the work files on the lab table then gently smiled and walked back to her office.

Molly walked into her office the next morning, eyes puffy from a night full of both happy and sad memories, to see a box on her desk. She placed her bag on the chair and picked up the small envelope tucked into the red ribbon wrapped around the package. She pulled out the card and unfolded it to find the familiar handwriting of Sherlock Holmes.

_Molly,_

_Please accept this as a small token of my appreciation for our friendship._

_I would never consider you buying it from me. Perhaps you could buy me a cup of coffee instead, with dinner, tonight? Pick you up at 7?_

_Sherlock_

Molly smiled as she slowly pulled the red ribbon loose and lifted the lid. Dinner was going to be one of the best nights of her life.


	10. Chapter 10

"A Tug On My Heart"

Sherlolly prompt - Tom shows up drunk on Molly's doorstep, wanting her back, but she has company in the form of a naked (save for a sheet around his waist) Sherlock.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock stood by quietly, in the small, yet cozy parlor of Molly's apartment at two in the morning, as she spoke to an obviously drunk and lonely Tom at her front door. They had been woken at this ungodly hour by his persistent banging at her door.

Sherlock was quickly losing patience with the man. Molly was trying her best to be polite and trying to calm him and explain that it wasn't anything Tom did that broke them up, blah, blah, blah.

Sherlock initially had a minute amount of sympathy for Tom, after all he had lost Molly, but after ten minutes, Sherlock's patience was gone.

If it wasn't for his respect for Molly and this being her home, he would have answered the door himself and shooed Tom on his way. Then he heard Tom say, "I saw the way you used to look at that bloke, Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh, for God's sake." Sherlock muttered under his breath as he walked up behind Molly and made eye contact with Tom. If looks could kill, this one mutilated and slayed. It took just a second for the stunned man to drop his eyes and scamper away. Molly stood in the doorway confused by Tom's behavior until she turned around to see Sherlock standing in the hall with only a bed sheet wrapped around his waist.

"Molly, I didn't say a word." Sherlock said defending himself as he walked backwards, trying not to trip on the folds of the long bed sheet. She stalked towards him with determination and a hint of mischievousness in her eyes. Sherlock felt a tug on the sheet as Molly placed her foot on one of the edges and it unraveled and slid off his body.

Her eyes raked over his lean, chiseled body before placing her palms on his skin. They both moaned at her touch. He was pleasantly surprised to find out how tactile Molly was after they started dating. She loved to explore both the soft and hard angles of his body. Her hands ran across his chest, then up his neck to plunge into the thick curls of his hair.

"Sherlock, take me back to bed." She whispered before he picked her up and carried her to their room.


	11. Chapter 11

"Lips Like Candy"

**Prompt: Sherlolly kiss in the rain**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A late night dinner at one of their favorite restaurants ended in another blissful evening of delicious food and conversation. As Molly and Sherlock begun their walk home, the sound of Molly's heels clicking over the cobbled street ricocheted off the buildings in the quiet neighborhood.

The sexy sway of her hips kept Sherlock mesmerized as she held his hand and led him through the streets. She had let down her hair after a long day at work. It's soft curls bouncing against her shoulders as she turned her head back to smile at him. He returned her smile. He found he did that a lot more often these days and he was okay with that. She brought joy into his life with her smile, her laughter and her generous heart.

Molly was even more beautiful under the glow of the streetlights. Fingers of light and shadow played over her features, worshiping her like he did. His fingers tingled as his sensory memory replayed all the moments he had touched her.

Just before they reached the riverbank a soft drizzle began. They both looked up at the rain drops falling through the light fog that floated off the water. Within seconds the drops turned into sheets of cold, London rain.

Molly squealed at the shock of the downpour before Sherlock pulled her under the flap of his suit and against his body. He led them under a nearby green and white striped awning of a closed candy shop. The aroma of dark chocolate and decadent confections surrounded them.

"We're soaked, Sherlock." Molly said as she burrowed deeper into the warmth of his chest as they huddled close.

"I love how observant you are, Molly." His lips curving into one of his typical wry smirks that Molly had grown to see was Sherlock's unique style of humor.

She smirked back, dismissing his joke as his body heat drew her to him. She ran her hands up the length of his back spreading them across the soft cotton of his shirt.

Molly pulled herself flush against his body as she looked up, her breath hitching as she met Sherlock's intense, focused eyes. They roamed over her face as if memorizing it for the first time and not the hundredth.

She found being the target of Sherlock's interest was a total and complete turn on. Instead of making her uncomfortable it made her feel like the center of his world. What woman wouldn't want to be the center of their man's universe?

Sherlock's long, agile fingers sifted through her wet hair till he cupped the back of her neck and slowly lowered his head to touch his lips against hers. Lust wasn't something new to him, but what was, was the mixture of lust and love that Molly made him feel. It was as intoxicating as it was rapid fire all-consuming.

"Molly," He whispered, as he brushed his lips back and forth over hers silently begging her to open for him. His tongue licked against her lower lip before sliding in along the length of hers. He took his time. Slow, yet forceful.

It was only them in their shadowed corner. He shared her breaths as one hand kept control of her head and the other ran a finger along her jawline then down the length of her neck to unbutton the first button of her shirt. Her chest rose and fell faster and faster as that single finger continued its journey, button after button down till the white lace of her bra was exposed to him.

His mouth swallowed her moan as he palmed her breast. She wrapped her arm around his neck as his hand massaged and worshiped her curves.

The harsh honk of a passing car startled them. Sherlock held her tight as their passions cooled and they started laughing at being found groping in public. "I'm a bit embarrassed."

"I'm not." He said as he kissed her lips then each warm blushing cheek. "Never."


	12. Chapter 12

"Take Your Future By The Hand"

***Sherlolly prompt: Sherlock meeting his future self and talking with him about his life with Molly.***

~~~~~~~~

Sherlock stood standing in the middle of a stark white room, empty except for a set of two chairs and a table painted blood red. He could not remember how he got there or where he was. The back of his head throbbed with pain as he looked around trying to analyze his situation.

"Sit, Sherlock." Came a clear, authoritative voice from behind him. He turned to see a tall, elegant older gentleman with a cane, who...no, it could not be. Sherlock took several steps back from the man till his legs hit the side of the table. As Sherlock reached for the corners to steady himself, the man walked up to within inches of him.

"Don't be afraid. I know you're confused, but I also know you are more interested in finding out who I am and where you are, than running from me."

"I don't understand." Sherlock whispered as he took inventory of the age of the man standing in front of him. This man, who looked like him, but older. He took in the strange material of his suit and the odd shoes that seemed to glow with effervescent colors.

"Please. I will explain." The man said as he pointed to the chair for Sherlock to sit down.

Sherlock glanced around the small windowless room for more clues to the craziness of the situation, but as the throbbing in the back of his head started up again, he sat down.

"I don't think I require any introduction good man, but I will anyway. I am you, Sherlock. 40 years from now. Thank goodness Molly made you change your ways, so that healthy eating and taking care of yourself allowed me to be...me. Other than a pesky right knee that acts up when it rains, I'm healthy and robust."

"Molly. Molly Hooper?"

"Of course, Molly Hooper. The love of our lives, Sherlock." The old geezer said with a familiar smirk. "She is truly a remarkable woman, as you already know. I do wish you had done something a lot sooner about your admiration for her. Six wasted years, that we couldn't get back, where we could have been shagging like rabbits."

"Wha..what are you talking about?" Sherlock responded with shock and embarrassment. No one knew of his attraction for Molly and no one ever would. He was a difficult man on a good day and appalling on a bad one, so why should Molly want him? Not to mention the safety issue. Sherlock cringed as he considered the harm that would come to her if his enemies knew how much he cared for her.

"Ah, you really should stop thinking that way dear boy." The older Sherlock said as he sat tapping the cane between his legs. "You do and did deserve a woman of her quality."

"How do you know what I was just thinking?" Sherlock said as he begun to stand up. He really needed to figure out what was going on. As he stood, a light headedness came over him and he was forced to sit back down.

"I know what you're thinking because I am you. I don't have much time old chap, so listen and listen carefully." Said the old man as he leaned in close to the table.

"When next you see our Molly, you take her in your arms and you kiss her silly. She always enjoys a little forcefulness if you know what I mean," he joked with a twinkle in his eye. "Hmm, where was I, ah yes, kiss her silly and ask her out to dinner. Tsk, tsk, you forget all that nonsense about safety. She can take care of herself and you, can keep her safe. I'm a testament to your skills."

Just as quickly as he was jolly he became serious. Pointing a long, age withered finger directly at Sherlock, he said in a grave voice, "For if you do not, we will lose her Sherlock. And I do not want to lose her….do you?" His eyes as serious and familiar as the ones he looked at in his mirror every morning.

"No, I don't want to lose her." Sherlock whispered.

"Then, don't. Then, don't. Then, don't." Echoed in Sherlock's ears as everything started to tilt and his vision begun to dim till finally, all went black.

"Sherlock, can you hear me?" A voice said slicing through the darkness of his sleep. "There you are."

Soft hands gently stroked his bangs across his forehead as he struggled to open his eyes. Bright sunlight streaming through the windows made him blink as a figure of a person sitting at his bedside loomed.

"Hi," A familiar ponytail and white medical coat came into focus.

"Molly.." Sherlock croaked out as he tried to get his bearings.

"Shhh, take it easy. You're in the hospital. Fell and hit your head, but you'll be fine." She explained as she continued to stroke his hair. It felt heavenly. Memories of his odd dream floated back with the reality of being in 2015.

Sherlock never really believed in hocus pocus, magic or other mystical things, but the feeling of the old man's urgency lingered. And perhaps he was just tired of fighting his feelings for Molly. Perhaps he would like to be happy and be given the chance to make her happy as well, if she would allow him.

"Molly, have dinner with me?"


	13. Chapter 13

"Whenever I Remember"

**I modified the Sherlolly prompt in the previous chapter to this: Sherlock meeting himself and talking about his life with Molly.**

** A/N: Major ANGST. Character Death**

"I know you aren't real. So, you can stare at me all night. I will ignore you." Sherlock said out loud to the ethereal being, a vision of his younger self, that seemed to be patiently waiting, with hands bent together in a familiar steeple of relaxation for him to talk. He seemed to fade in and out against the plush upholstered chair that Molly loved to read in.

Molly….

Sherlock shook his head furiously trying to push everything away. All thoughts, everything, but even in his time of need, Sherlock could not escape himself.

The only sounds in the small study was the crackling of firewood from the raging fire in the mantle and the gentle howling of wind against the stained glass panes.

Sherlock looked everywhere, at the book lined shelves that ran the length of the walls and the rich colored oriental carpets that kept his feet warm on cold nights like this, to the wooden beams that ran across the stark white ceiling of his beach side cottage, everywhere except at...himself.

He bit his lip before slanting his eyes back to Molly's chair.

"Bugger." He sighed as he sat up straight, crossing his legs to face the ghost that had been haunting him the last two nights. Two long and painful nights since the loss of his dearest Molly. His eyes closed as the pain of her loss pulled him further into his depression. Deeper into the darkness that was the only thing Sherlock could see when the sun rose in the mornings and when it set at dusk. No longer did sunshine touch upon his soul.

"Sherlock," A deep, baritone whisper was heard. "Tell me a story of happier times."

A faint smile formed on his lips as he thought back upon years full of happiness before the agony returned ten fold. His fingers pressed tightly against each other before he attempted to deflect. Remembering hurt too much. His heart was no longer whole.

"Why would you wish to know?" He said as he fought against the pain.

"She should never be forgotten." Came a breathy command.

His head slowly dropped and then...hung heavily with defeat. His love for her would always win. "No, she should never be forgotten."

He opened his mind to all the wonderful rooms of his mind palace. Warmth invaded every cell of his body as rays of sunshine of another kind touched him. Dreams whispered in his ear after the glow of love making, the smells of a lab and the clinking of test tubes, baby giggles and gurgles with the blowing of kisses across little tummies and peaceful days walking hand in hand.

"No, she will never be forgotten." Sherlock said as he looked through the fading spectre to all the family pictures displayed on his desk. Picture frame after picture frame of their children and grandchildren. Love and Happiness. His Molly.


	14. Chapter 14

"A Rendezvous At 221B"

**A/N: M-rated**

~~~~~~

 

"221B Penaple Street, 9pm" was scrawled across a note, neatly folded and secretly placed in the left pocket of Sherlock's belstaff.

The distinctive scent of wildflowers; faint and delicate reached his nose as he waved the paper casually under his chin.

His fingers skimmed over the small indentions of the initials woven through the personalized stationery.

Sherlock smiled as he remembered what happened the last time he went to an 221B address written in a note delivered the exact same way.

His body instantly hardened as he accessed a room of his mind palace where he kept very special memories of soft limbs, whispered commands and breathy sighs.

_**He had arrived at an old brick three story townhouse on the edge of a quiet neighborhood that had seen better times, but was just as beautiful in its age as it was in its heyday.** _

_**Thick green ivy ate away at its facade, creating beauty as it stretched across, destroyed and conquered the building.** _

_**Gas lit lanterns flickered and greeted him as he walked up to the faded red door and reached for the lion's head door knocker, that was slightly tilted like his at Baker Street.** _

_**No answer came to his double tap of the knocker, but the door creaked ajar to a scene of rose petals strewn across a time worn wooden floor.** _

_**He followed their trail through the roughly scraped entryway, that told of hundreds of adventures, owners and visitors; up to the bottom step of a sweeping staircase.** _

_**Two long slender legs, sexily on display in black thigh-high stockings, pulled his eyes up along a lush, slim body kept warm within a classic raincoat. Molly, sat reclining on the stairs lazily waiting for him.** _

_**"Hello Sherlock," She whispered as she slowly opened her coat to reveal her leather corset.** _

_**"Hello Molly," He quietly replied as he walked closer and looked around the house.** _

_**"We're alone. I made sure of it. Would you like to help me stay warm?" She asked as she slowly, so very slowly uncrossed her legs and opened them wide. Her stiletto heels clicking on the wood as she delicately set her foot down.** _

_**"My pleasure," Sherlock murmured as his eyes took in every delectable part of her welcoming body. He kneeled down before her body like she was an altar of worship.** _

_**His hand reached out to rest on the top of her knee and languidly traveled down her silky legs, coming to a stop at the edge of her inner thighs. Her muscles quivered under his hand as he got closer and closer to the spot that wanted his touch the most.** _

_**She was wet and ready as she waited for him to arrive; her thoughts and feelings explicit and vivid.** _

_**Sherlock's thumb extended out and lightly settled over her heated core. He slowly rubbed over the leather, applying pressure and pushing it against her wet center.** _

_**Molly's body bowed tautly, her legs clasping tightly around his arm as she exploded with a loud cry.** _

_**The lust and adrenaline that coursed through Sherlock from watching Molly's passion, took over. He had only one need and that was to get in her. To find heaven in the warm, lush depths of her body.** _

_**He stripped his belt and tore open his pants. His purple dress shirt tightly restricting his already quick breaths, heightening his desires.** _

_**"Sherlock, please hur..." Molly plea was cut off as he pulled her leather crotch aside and pushed in. All the way in.** _

_**Hard. Again and again and again.** _

_**Molly grasped onto his head as she held on. Her fingers pulling at his luscious black curls as he shoved into her, till her body curled around his and pushed back against him.** _

_**The sweet friction and constant brushing of their bodies brought them both to completion at the same time. Their moans echoing off the empty rooms.** _

Sherlock came back to his senses, quickly turning and walking back towards the tube station. He had a very delicious appointment to keep.


	15. Chapter 15

 

“When The Time is Right”

A/N: Sherlolly prompt: Trapped in the elevator bc I need this two trapped in little space with their sexual tension :)

~~~~~~

Molly found herself indulging and accommodating Sherlock Holmes once again, by taking him down to St. Bart's basement morgue, to review an autopsy she'd done the day before. It was hard to say no to him, especially while he was on a case. He was like a dog with a bone; all concentration and focus.

It was past two in the morning and her side of the hospital was quiet and deserted. It was one of the reasons she enjoyed the night shift.

The elevator came to an abrupt stop causing both Molly and Sherlock to slam into the corner of the otherwise empty elevator car.

Sherlock had twisted his body at the last second, hitting the wall and cushioning her body against his.

Molly's stomach dropped as the car suddenly shuddered, then dropped again in a free fall. Sherlock grabbed onto her as they begun to fall and then the car stopped, again.

They stood frozen in place not sure what was happening and afraid to move. The elevator seemed to have stopped. They both slowly eased their death grips on each other, but not totally letting go.

"Molly? Are you okay?" He asked the top of her head. She nodded yes, as she tried to get her bearings. She zeroed in on the buttons of his shirt as she breathed in and out deeply trying to calm herself.

"I'm going to let you go now, but I'll be right here. Right here, okay?" Sherlock spoke gently, but firmly trying to break through her shock. "Molly? Did you hear me?"

"Yes," She replied as her fingers tightened on his jacket lapel and she instinctively moved closer till her legs touched his.

"Okay, I'll......stay." He whispered, squeezing her fingers in reassurance when he realized she wasn't going to let him go.

He kept his left arm wrapped around her as he walked them both over to the elevator panel and pressed the communication button to ring the emergency operator. It rang two times then a staticky voice came through.

"Hello, are you alright?"

"Yes, no physical injuries. There are two of us. This is Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Molly Hooper. I wanted you to be aware that Dr. Hooper is claustrophobic and we require help as soon as possible."

"We apologize for what just happened. We're working on getting the elevator moving and getting you both out as quickly as we can." Then the line went dead.

"Why doesn't it surprise me that you know about my phobia?" Molly said, breathing deeply, trying to ignore the fact that she was stuck in a small, confined space plastered against the long lean body of a man she found incredibly attractive.

"It's me, Molly." Sherlock replied with a slight grin, as his eyes made a detailed inventory of her level of anxiety.

"I know you have a very mild phobia, but I still wanted to try and get you out of here as soon as possible." He explained as he slowly begun to rub his hands up and down her slender back in a soothing motion.

Molly wasn't sure he was even aware he was doing it, but it calmed her and made her feel safe.

One hand inadvertently rubbed across the silk of her undershirt, where her sweater had pulled up.

"Thank you," Molly said as she tried not to purr from the deliciousness of having his hands on her. Her body blushed from the sensuality of his hands rubbing the silk shirt across her skin.

He was being so kind and she really appreciated his concern. She couldn’t quite wrap her head around the fact that he was being so physical with her. She could count on one hand the number of times they ever made physical contact. He must of been just as shaken by the unexpected and terrifying events as she was.

He was so tall and standing this close to him made Molly feel dainty and extremely feminine.

All of a sudden the overhead lights blinked and then shut off. The small car went completely dark, except for the red emergency light that cast a soft shade of red across Sherlock's face.

"Oh my," Molly sighed when she saw how the shadows and lighting made his profile even more distinctly masculine. All lines and sharp edges. He was truly beautiful to look at.

"It's okay, Molly. Just hang on."

Molly really should've corrected his impression of why she said that, but she was just caught up in the moment of feeling his body all along hers and the innate strength that seemed to emanate from his body even when he was standing still.

She shivered at feeling the contours of his chest and the outline of his thighs that cupped hers. Awareness flared as she tried to keep her body's reaction to him under control.

Sherlock's arms swallowed her whole as he pulled his jacket off then bundled her up when he felt her trembling.

The smell of Molly's lemon scented soap wafted around Sherlock. It was the familiar, simple scent that drove him crazy as they worked together. He loved walking into her office first thing in the morning when she was fresh from her shower and the scent was the strongest. It lingered on her skin during the length of the day, but he especially loved the mornings.

Molly's shivering seemed to get worse. Sherlock pulled her in the last few inches, till they were flush against each other.

Molly was going to burn in hell for what she was feeling right now, but his nearness was driving her wild with a need that was both physical and psychological.

"Molly, are you okay?" He asked in that beloved deep baritone that always made her nipples pebble in awareness.

"Sherlock, I'm fine...I..I'm...shaking for other reasons." Molly replied, complete and total silence being his only response as her meaning became clear to him.

Sherlock's heartbeat accelerated under her hands. She hoped it was out of excitement and not uncomfortableness. Since his return from the "dead" their relationship wasn't just friendship anymore. His few bolt hole stays and talks, long into the night, had moved them into a limbo in which she wasn't sure what direction he wanted to go in. He hadn't said anything and she had...hoped he would have taken the initiative..but he had not.

She was so tired of yearning for him. She was so tired seeing other people living and loving. She wanted that and she wanted and wished it, with him.

"Are you saying..." He said as he swallowed outloud.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying." She whispered as she gathered the last of her pride and turned it into hope. She would offer her heart. Would he take it?

She lay her forehead against his chest, too nervous to look him in the eye as she waited for his answer.

Sherlock had been too afraid to make any changes in their status quo. His relationship with Molly was so special and important to him that he worried if he showed her what he was feeling, he would damage it or worse, put an end to it. He couldn't picture a life without her in it.

Sherlock's spirit soared as her words sunk in. He buried his face in her neck as he rubbed his cheek against hers. As he felt her sigh across his skin and hug him back, his lips trailed along her jaw to find her lips.

"Are you sure, Molly?" He whispered against her mouth.

The scent of lemons and heated male encircled them. Yes, she was sure.

Their lips found each other's, over and over, deeper and harder, as they tasted and savored love.


	16. Chapter 16

“With Me Always”

Sherlolly prompt: I’d love a one-shot of Molly visiting Sherlock in the hospital after he’s been shot.

~~~~

Sherlock knew there was something wrong. Something horribly wrong. The distinct odors and sounds of a working hospital accosted his senses. He couldn’t move, his body felt like dead weight and a darkness, a premonition of evil lingered along the periphery of his mind. What was happening? What was he forgetting?

Every time his consciousness strayed from the dark that engulfed him, towards a light shimmering on the other side of his eyelids, the inky darkness pulled him back down.

Each time he fought to resurface out of that fog, a feeling of warmth and security wrapped around him. Sometimes it was a touch on his arm or fingers sliding his bangs across his forehead or a gentle squeeze of his hand. Each time…the feeling got stronger, so that he tried his hardest to go back to it, time and time again…back towards the light. Towards warmth and security.

A soft weight settled across his lap. More warmth and peace surrounded him. Something soft and feather like blanketed his arm and hands as he fought to finally wake up. At first the sound of beeping filtered through his jumbled thoughts, then as he tried to open his eyes, memories flooded back.

Mary, John and…Molly.

The confusion and disbelief of what Mary did, drove adrenaline into every cell of Sherlock’s body. She had shot him at point blank range.

He had to get to John.

His eyes flew open and settled upon a slight and delicate body, with black curls spilling across his lap, asleep. It was Molly. She was curled over his hospital bedside in complete exhaustion, her head resting comfortably on his hip.

In the quiet of the room with just the beeping of the machines Sherlock allowed himself a moment…one moment to silently thank Molly for being with him in his mind palace. Her impact on his life could never be measured.

The echo of her voice telling him to “focus” and “control the pain” had kept him alive. Control, control, control was what he had chanted as he clawed his way up those “winding stairs” and away from certain death.

With the small wrinkles of worry and the dark shadows under her eyes, Molly was even more beautiful. She must have been here with him all this time.

He knew at once that it was her light and her presence; her hands on him that kept him away from the darkness. She had kept him alive yet again and she would help him protect John. She would help him.

It took all of his energy to lift his fingers and lightly sift them through the mass of her silky ringlets.

The tactile feel of her hair was a decadence he permitted himself before he began the impossible. Before the journey he needed to take to help Mary and John. He wanted to stay there with Molly and forget the rest of the world, but he couldn’t…a second later, Sherlock finally spoke…“Molly.”


	17. Chapter 17

"Private Moments"

Sherlolly Prompt - Sherlock is rather surprised to find out that Molly has had a rather scandalous incident in her past (your choice as to the incident and it's level of scandalousness, and whether it has to do directly with her) that a nasty tabloid reporter wants to leak to humiliate her before their wedding. He and Mycroft take steps...only to find out Molly isn't the least bit worried about it.

A/N: I modified the prompt a little bit.

~~~~~~~~

It was 2am and the small coffee shop, a place both Holmes brothers knew provided privacy and discretion, was empty save the lone figure seated at the back of the room.

Sherlock arrived at the restaurant as soon as he received the call from Mycroft. He knew something more than a government scandal was brewing by the odd quiver in Mycroft's voice. It was unnoticeable to the layman, but Sherlock picked up on it immediately. This was about someone they both cared for.

As he sat down at the table, a yellow manila envelope was pushed towards him. But, Mycroft's hand remained heavily upon it as if the weight of its contents would change everything.

"I only saw one of them before I realized what they were about, Sherlock." Mycroft said as his other hand squeezed the handle of his umbrella in uncharacteristic anger.

"Molly," The one word from Mycroft's lips echoed in the quiet space between them. Sherlock's body went into full alert. His instinct to protect making all his senses narrow and focus.

"Take it home and talk with her. I've included a full dossier on the perpetrator once this was brought to my attention. If you wish to have the rodent smashed and destroyed...all my resources are available." Mycroft said as he stood up and left the room.

The vehemence of Mycroft's comments came as no surprise to Sherlock. Over the years as Molly had grown to become more and more important to Sherlock, so had she become to Mycroft. How could she not, with her loyalty, intelligence and compassion. And now that she was to officially become part of the Holmes' family, Mycroft was especially protective.

Sherlock and Molly's wedding was scheduled to happen in a month's time as Spring was a favorite season of hers.

~~~~

Sherlock sat by the bedside as he watched Molly sleep. The colors of dawn were slowly filling the bedroom of their apartment as he drank in everything about her. He never tired of her beauty. Both internal and external. It would always amaze him that she chose him. That she chose to love him. That she chose to live her life with him.

He would agree to whatever she wanted done with the contents of his package.

He sat up in his chair as she gently stirred and stretched.

"Hallo," She murmured as she noticed him. She slowly sat up, her long hair spilling around her shoulders as she pushed herself into a seated position, resting against the headboard of their bed.

"You're looking very serious Sherlock, come here....is something wrong?" She asked as she held out her hand to him in invitation.

He hesitated for just a second before his need to touch her and get this moment over with; pushed him to take her hand and sit down on the bed with her.

The yellow envelope rested on the bed near his hand.

"Morning love....these have come to be in my possession and...well, I'll let you tell me what you'd like to do." He said as he patiently watched her open the envelope and take out a small stack of black and white photographs.

She flipped through each photo slowly pausing once or twice over a few of them.

She put them aside and took Sherlock's hand in hers again and squeezed them affectionately. He squeezed them back as their eyes met and Molly's twinkled with shy mirth.

She was such a bundle of contradictions and surprises. A woman in the full sense of the word. Sherlock looked forward to a life filled with her and her multi-facets.

"Did you enjoy them?" She asked with a small smile tipping one side of her lips. She was adorable in her fearlessness. Ever the practical woman of science, she knew his curiosity and interest had been stimulated in more ways than one.

"Absolutely," He said with a small smile of his own followed by a moment of seriousness. "A tabloid reporter is threatening to publish these to get a front page expose under his byline. Would you like me to have him "disappear," Mycroft has offered to help me do it swiftly, yet painfully."

"Oh goodness, has he seen these too?" A soft blush on her cheeks forming.

"Only one. I on the other hand have seen them all....multiple times. They're beautiful." He said as reached up to cup the side of her face; gently rubbing his thumb across the pink of her cheeks and the plumpness of her lips. She turned her face into his palm where she kissed it.

"While at University, a good friend of mine asked if I could pose for his graduate school photography project. He took a shy and awkward girl and made her feel like a sensuous and beautiful woman for a few hours. I'm quite proud of those pictures. His talent was very apparent even then."

"I think it's more than his talent, Molly. You're an exceptionally beautiful woman. He only recognized it like I did and highlighted it. I'll have to send him a thank you note."

Molly's laughter warmed him like it usually did. She made his world so much fuller in every way that mattered.

The pictures were tastefully done. No full on nudity, only profiles and gorgeous curves and sexy feminine lines. Limbs crossed and hands carefully placed made the viewer wish to see more. She should be proud of them.

"I'm sorry if this may cause any embarrassment to your parents, Sherlock." She said with concern and love.

"No worries, Mycroft has it under control. The pictures will remain "private." Now, can we talk about that one pose where..." His voice trailed off as he leaned in and captured her lips.


	18. Chapter 18

"Devil On My Shoulder"

A Sherlolly Prompt from the lovely penaltywaltz : Molly finds out Sherlock is ticklish, quite by accident. She makes use of this tidbit of information.

~~~~~~~

A flurry of dexterous fingers flew across the screen as Sherlock texted, then stopped as he hung up his cell phone and began to gather up all his things to leave the lab. John must have found something significant, Molly thought to herself.

“Molly, I have to go,” He said, as she looked up from her microscope.

He had been quietly performing evidence testing and analysis beside Molly all morning.

His gradual “claiming” of the only other seat, at the end of Molly’s lab table, over the last few months had not gone unnoticed by her. Since his return from the dead, his demeanor towards her had turned into a subtle and respectful camaraderie.

As he shrugged on his trademark belstaff and then turned to her with his long, elegant fingers pulling on his leather gloves, Molly noticed he had left his dark blue scarf on the table.

“Sherlock, wait..” She said, as she grabbed the scarf and automatically reached up on the tips of her toes to try and put the scarf around his neck.

She hadn’t really thought about what she was doing. Their friendship afforded a new and different level of comfortableness now, that is just felt…right.

They hadn’t really touched, not really, other than two remarkable kisses. Remarkable for her anyway. She tried not to think of them too often. The Christmas kiss and then the kiss at the end of one of the best days of her life.

They had both left her with a lingering sadness and longing for more, yet she preserved every detail of those moments to last her a lifetime.

She had him as a friend now, she would cherish that too.

The awkwardness of his hands in front of his chest and her short stature brought him to bow his head down for her.

As he stood up, her fingers grazed the side of his ears and a slight shudder and uncharacteristic sound escaped his lips.

Molly was so stunned that she still hadn’t released the scarf. They stood there, so close, as it dawned on her that Sherlock Holmes just laughed. The devil  must have been sitting on her shoulder today was the only reason she would come up later for what she did next.

She gently ran her thumb over the rim of his ear once more as her palms still rested along his face. His hands quickly grasped onto hers, stopping her movement.

Their eyes met as his closed for a second while a small sweet smile worked along his lips. Lips that Molly couldn’t help smiling back at. Wow, she thought she knew everything about the consulting detective from her years of covert admiration, but she obviously didn’t.

“You’re ticklish,” Molly whispered in awe as her eyes searched his for confirmation.

“Yes, I am.” He said as Molly watched his eyes turn from a crystal blue of delicate shyness into a heated flare of lush, emerald green.

She must be dreaming. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Was Sherlock feeling the same longing she carried with her, always?

Sexual awareness spread from her hands, that he still held against his face, all across her body that brushed against his with every increased breath of her excitement.

His face seemed to sway closer, his lips so close, that she licked hers at the idea of tasting them. Her mouth watered at the thought of what he would taste like.

Her glance flickered to and from his eyes and those luscious lips. So very close…

The buzzing of Sherlock’s cell phone shattered the moment. Molly’s face flushed with embarrassment as she started to pull back from him.

She must have imagined it all. She just got caught up in the moment.

Sherlock Holmes wasn’t just about to kiss her. Kiss Molly Hooper for something other than an apology? No, ….

“Yes,” He said in a voice as breathless as she felt. She blushed even harder as she realized she must have spoken her words out loud.

“Yes, Molly…” He said again as he lowered his face towards hers. He hovered over her lips as if asking her for permission.

Lord, didn’t this beautiful man know he didn’t need to ask; Molly thought as she pulled down on his long forgotten scarf…and made her dreams real.


	19. Chapter 19

"A 1000 Reasons To Love You"

Sherlolly Prompt from the lovely penalty waltz : Sherlock & Molly’s baby is ill, and Sherlock has been away on a case.  Molly’s expecting another sleepless night, but instead she wakes up to the sound of Sherlock singing softly to their child on the baby monitor when the baby starts crying.

~~~~~~~

Molly abruptly woke to the sounds of her baby girl’s coos, the urge to check on her ten month old at the forefront of her mind. Emma, her sweet, sweet Emma had been sick the last two days. After a trip to the doctor and meds prescribed, all Molly could do now was make sure Emma was comfortable as the meds did their job.

As Molly turned to sit up, a low hushed voice came through the baby monitor on her bedside table. She smiled as she recognized the soothing octave of her husband’s voice.

Sherlock was singing tenderly to their daughter in the nursery down the hall.

Molly laid back down, tucking her hands under her pillow, as she faced the baby monitor and listened to him.

She wasn’t expecting Sherlock until tomorrow morning. Nasty business up North had called him and John to consult.

Even with miles of road between them, Molly never felt alone in her concern and worry for Emma. Sherlock was on the phone and texting with her, talking over all possible reasons for Emma’s symptoms and then coming up with a list of top physicians that Molly totally approved of.

The combination of having a doctor and a consulting detective in the family would never leave any stone unturned for information.

Sherlock as a husband was a wondrous thing to experience and see, but Sherlock as a father was truly glorious to behold.

His unlimited ability to love the little creature he helped bring into this world still amazed Molly. The tender moments, like the one she was listening to, never failed to melt Molly’s heart. She didn’t think she could love Sherlock anymore than she already did, but he always seemed to give her another reason to.

Hearing her name brought Molly’s thoughts back to the present. “Emma, luv, you’re growing as lovely as your mum, my darling Molly, everyday.” Sherlock whispered to their baby as Molly closed her eyes to envision him rocking Emma in his favorite chair in the corner of the nursery.

“You have her smile and her eyes. Yes, the same eyes that keep me warm and make me feel loved.”

‘Oh Sherlock, you are so very loved,’ Molly quietly thought, as the eyes he spoke of glistened with emotions.

Once again, he gave her another reason to love him even more.


	20. Chapter 20

"Children Say The Darndest Things"

Prompt from JimMoriarty'sGirl: Archie deduction about Sherlock and Molly. It can be a deduction about anything.

###

Archie's little legs happily swung back and forth under his chair as he perused the case pictures Sherlock placed in front of him on the laptop. Maggots and assorted body parts displayed in both black and white and vivid color passed by as he tapped on the mouse.

His favorite pictures of course were of the Headless Nun that he was rewarded with, for helping Sherlock solve the wedding case of the invisible man who killed the Guardsman. And by favorite, he meant the most interesting and unusual.

Archie was very proud of his contribution to the saving of a life. He had never been to a more exhilarating wedding in his entire 10 years of life. It had been fun. He would never tell his mum that, of course, she wouldn't let him spend time with Mr. Holmes then.

He had batted about many ideas of what he wanted to do when he grew up and being just as clever and resourceful of a Consulting Detective as Sherlock Holmes, was currently number one on his list right above being a Fireman. The job of fighting fires and saving lives was also exceptionally appealing and exciting to his youthful adventurous heart.

Archie looked over to see Mr. Holmes very busy texting and reading over his phone screen and decided to flex his intellectual skills. After all, Mr. Holmes was always game for the exercising of one's mind.

"Mr. Holmes?"

"Yes, Archie."

"Ms. Hooper is quite nice, isn't she?" Archie said as he continually clicked away on the mouse.

After spending time with Sherlock and being around the immediate family and friends of Mary, Archie had been able to observe many things. A young child could get away with staring and listening to everyone's conversations and he did just that.

Ms. Hooper reminded him of a pretty classmate of his whom he'd awkwardly tried to talk to at school a few times. He would nervously stutter one word or two before she would gently smile back at him and everything felt, okay. She didn't make him feel weird or odd like the other children did. She made him feel...normal and he really, really liked her smile.

"Molly? What are you on about?"

"I like her and I think you do, too. I saw how often you would look at her at the wedding, when you thought she wasn't looking. She would do the same thing to you, too. When you weren't looking."

"Really?"

"Yes, and every time you text her, you hesitate, just a second before sending it. You take extra care when you converse with her. That's who you're texting right now, right?"

"Archie, are you...deducing me?"

"How am I doing?"

"Rather well, now...let's just stick to maggots and body parts. Okay?"

"Okay."


	21. Chapter 21

"Painting Pictures"

A/N: Occurs after 2x03

~~~~

Sherlock had been gone five months and two weeks before the first note arrived in the post. It was a regular business class envelope that ended up being a fake bank statement.

The first time Molly had opened one of those envelopes a small, precisely folded creme colored paper square fell out. As she unfolded the missive, the faint scent of fresh pine and warm cookies; as familiar and distinctive as the man himself, surrounded her.

She had always loved his scent. Masculine and delicious. It took copious amounts of self restraint for Molly not to grab ahold of him and just rub and bury herself against him whenever he was close.

That first note had been a quick pencil sketch with beautiful details of a little boy playing with his cat. Molly loved cats and the sweet scene made her smile. She turned the paper around, but there was no message, only the drawn image.

He was lonely. She could feel it in her bones. It touched her heart that he would think of her love of cats and take the trouble to covertly send it to her.

She wished she could send him something back. Something that would wrap him up in her love and concern.

Till she could hug him properly, she would keep his gift safe. She placed the small folded square in a hidden drawer in her father's old wooden desk. It had been one of the few things that remained of her father and having Sherlock's thoughtfulness secretly kept safe within its walls, was...lovely.

Over the next year and a half those missives came to her at odd times. Sometimes she'd get two in a month and other times, months would pass with no delivery.

Those were the toughest times for her. When she didn't know why there was silence from him, her mind would go towards the worst. In her weakest moments of worry she would wish she had never received his notes, but...then she would scold herself. How could she not appreciate his communications? His only connection to her. His thoughts and his...care.

Because as time passed the messages began to came to her with words. Beautiful words. Words from his heart.

She remembered the first ones she received. They had slayed and leveled her. She had curled up in her bed and read them over and over as silent tears fell.

_**"The sunrise off the little island nation I'm currently "visiting" is a brilliant splash of pinks, purples and oranges. It isn't the gritty splash of yellow and orange over the rooftops of London, but when I watch the sun dip below the horizon here, I think of you, watching yours."** _

His words traveled to her from close and far. She would never know his exact location, but he allowed her glimpses into his life.

" _ **The night is so quiet here, Molly. The only things keeping me company are the stars above and the crickets who call out for each other. Their mating call that is as old as time, makes me yearn for the simplicities of life. Playing my violin, a walk down the manicured greens of my favorite park and most of all, your warm, welcoming smile. "**_

Today, a familiar bank statement arrived and she hurriedly opened it to find..

" _ **The cacophony of sounds and aromas of the spice market and the swath of humanity that pushes me to and fro across the cobbled stone streets make me long for the silence of a corner booth in the small coffee shop off Baker Street. Perhaps you can join me there, tomorrow at 2?**_

"Oh Sherlock, yes," Molly whispered as she hugged the familiar stationary against her heart. "Yes."


	22. Chapter 22

"You And I, Will Magnify"

 

Prompt: Can you write something about molly having a significant other and the turmoil of sherlock’s jealousy. Set upon Sherlock's return in Season 3.

~~~~

Sherlock tried to hide the excitement of returning to London and to the family and friends he had left behind. He wasn’t hiding it too well as he impatiently drummed his fingers over the armrest of the back seat of the car Mycroft had authorized for his use. He was aware he was irritating the driver with the tap, tap, tap of his digits against the leather and he didn’t care. Today was a glorious day for Sherlock and nothing could damper it.

He knew Molly Hooper kept a tight schedule or at least she did two years ago. She hadn’t shown up yet and as Sherlock sat in the car in the typical pouring rain of the city he loved, he finally caught a glimpse of her.

She was sharing an umbrella with a tall, thin man as they ran towards the front door of St. Bart’s.

Sherlock’s fingers stopped the moment the man leaned down and gave Molly a quick kiss on the lips. They both smiled at each other before the man left her under the dry awning of the hospital.

Molly reached for the entrance doors before hesitating and then slowly turning to look down the street. Sherlock’s fingers tightened on the armrest as she looked directly at the car he was sitting in. She wouldn’t have been able to see him though the dark privacy tint of the military issued sedan, but her gaze was a soothing touch upon his Molly starved soul.

She smirked and then shook her head as if dissuading herself of some thought. Could she feel him? His focus, razor sharp and intense was completely and utterly on…her.

God, she was beautiful. Still, so very beautiful. He memorized every new detail of her and secreted it away to her special place in his mind palace.

Loose damp whips of her silky hair clung sensually to her face. Her lips were cinnamon candy red from good health and her cheeks vibrant with a blush from sprinting through the rain. Sherlock would never entertain the idea that it was a blush from her lover’s kiss because well, that was ridiculous.

Even from all the way across the street he could see, plain as day, that her beau was just a good friend.

The degree of her blush and the calm, steady release of her breath after their kiss wasn’t reflective of a great passion. And Sherlock knew first hand how passionate Molly Hooper could be. He had been witness to it and she was magnificent.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t always brought forth that ardor politely, but she had a great passion for and with him. He smiled as he remembered every instance. Moments where she’d told him off and that incredible moment, where she asked him what he needed, and he had put his life and his heart in her very capable hands.

Molly Hooper was breathtaking and stunning and well, everything…and she was especially so…with Sherlock. Not some bloke she thought was a good person and enjoyed spending time with. Not this man who kissed her goodbye.

Sherlock would just have to show her how much she meant to him. How much he valued her and her friendship and perhaps, perhaps they could find their mutual passion in the best possible way.


	23. Chapter 23

"A Distant Touch"

~~~~~

The thumping bass of the dance music was pounding against Molly’s head or was it a migraine, she thought as she tipped her neck back to rest against the plush velvet upholstered booth in the dark, decadent bar she found herself in. Dim lighting, rich wood textures and purple paisley wallpapered walls made customers feel like they’d traveled back in time and not in the middle of a neighborhood in North London. 

Friends from Molly’s chemistry class had dragged her along to celebrate surviving their final exams and at 2 in the morning, the long hours of studying and constant stress were catching up with her. Those said friends were all currently dancing like crazy people on the dance floor as Molly sipped from her glass of white wine.

As her head lolled to the side she caught sight of a long, lean figure sitting by himself in a shadowed corner. Her breath caught as she took in how attractive he was, skin alabaster white against wind swept inky, black hair. Cheek bones high and sharp that led to lips that were full and sensuous. He was beautiful, but he also looked... haunted. He may be a stranger to her, but she felt he was a kindred soul. His aloneness touched her. 

Molly sometimes felt she was alone even while in the midst of a crowd of people. It was something that came from not feeling like she fit in completely. Almost like she was a woman out of her time. She could never explain the feeling…

She watched as he ran long fingers through his lush hair then looked down at his legs as he rubbed his hands nervously up and down his thighs. He was anxious. Was he waiting for someone? He was probably waiting for some gorgeous woman or man for that matter. Someone who looked like him couldn’t possibly be alone.

He suddenly looked right at Molly. Through the shadows of the night club, his hawk like gaze pierced her. She felt so embarrassed at being caught staring and quickly looked away, but not for long. He was far too handsome not to watch. 

When she looked back he was still looking at her. Lots of emotions flittered across his face, surprise, irritation, curiosity, and then..interest. He seemed interested in her. Wow, Molly smiled as she thought about how crazy that was. She must look totally unkempt and rumpled after studying for two nights in a row and living off junk food and coffee.

She felt like he must have read her mind as a knowing smile curved across his face in response to hers. Should she go over to him? Did she suavely order him a drink? How did a woman in the 21st century talk to a stranger in a bar? She was so out of her element and he was beautiful.

He kept eye contact and began to get up, but then a woman, tall, dressed all in black with hair streaked with colors of the rainbow sat down next to him. She had his complete attention after that and he never once looked back at Molly.

The abrupt change in him startled her. What happened? Was that his girlfriend? 

Molly could only watch as their heads bent close and a few words were whispered; then a small bag full of white powder was covertly pushed towards him under the woman’s impeccably manicured hand. 

“Oh no,” Molly whispered to herself as she realized this beautiful, sad man was an addict. No wonder he looked haunted. He was haunted by something awful, insidious and unrelenting, drugs.

Their business was completed quickly and the woman left. The man took out a small snippet of white paper and wrote on it then placed it back into the pocket of his jacket. 

Then he stood up, buttoned his suit with his back towards Molly. His back was so rigged and stiff and he seemed to...hesitate. Molly thought she probably imagined that because then he walked away. He walked away without a glance.

That encounter stayed with Molly for a long time. It reminded her how lucky she was to have people who cared for her and a goal to finish medical school so she could help people. She often wondered what happened to that man. Was he alive? Did he ever find his way?

For some reason that distant memory came back to her as she drank her coffee while getting ready for her first day at work at St. Bartholomew's. She shook her head to wipe the sad thoughts from her mind and concentrate on the excitement of her first job out of school. Life was good and her future was going to be full of wonderful adventures and interesting people. She just knew it.


	24. Chapter 24

"Tumblr Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2016"

Day 1 theme - Caught In The Rain

"Into The Gray"

####

Sherlock angled his umbrella as the wind shifted direction and the torrential rain went horizontal. Four days of rain and grayness had encompassed the city. Clouds lingered and delivered a steady pouring of gloom. He had to smirk at the feeling the gray brought. It seeped into his already brusk and dark outlook on life to make him a tad depressed. Couple that with no challenging cases and Sherlock was restless. What he wouldn't give for a ray of sunshine and a mystery to solve.

As he walked through the deserted streets that paralleled the River Thames a splash of red caught his eye. Through the dense downpour he watched a woman walk out of a hole in the wall bar that looked to just be closing. It was seedy and basic and an odd choice for a lone woman dressed up to the nines, high heels and hair elegantly swept up and a….no, he must be seeing things he only dreamed about. That could not be a bright pink and black scarf that was as distinctive as the woman who owned it.

What the hell was Molly Hooper doing alone at 2am on a Sunday morning walking out of a bar? Didn't she realize how unsafe that behavior was? That a pretty woman alone in the middle of the night was a target. And she was pretty and she was alone. No one came after her as she faced the rough elements.

Before Sherlock could catch up with her, Molly opened her red umbrella and started walking across the street and entered an alley in the direction of the waterfront.

Sherlock sprinted after her and saw the tip of her red umbrella as it turned a corner and when he rounded the same corner the umbrella sat in the middle of the cobbled street. It wobbled back and forth under the deluge of rain. Creeping shadows encroached all around as a single overhead street light poorly lit the street.

He quickly looked up and scanned the area, his adrenaline and fears escalating till he saw Molly, in her familiar sensible beige London Fog rain coat, standing by the edge of the river bank. She wasn't being sensible right now though.

Her face was tilted up to the heavens and her arms spread wide as if she was welcoming the pounding of the rain over her body. She was soaking wet and Sherlock couldn't understand what she was doing.

"Molly?" Sherlock said, as he walked up to her and met her shocked eyes as she quickly turned towards his voice.

"Sherlock….of course it would be you," she whispered with a tone that was devoid of her usual self. Sherlock couldn't see the tears, but he could hear them in her voice. Did someone hurt her? By God, he'd kill anyone who tried. His vision turned scarlet as anger and his instincts to protect her overtook everything else.

"Molly? Are you hurt?" he asked, as he walked into her personal space and covered them both under the protection of his umbrella. He looked her over seeing no obvious wounds, but there were wounds. He could feel the gravity of them in the air around her.

"No. No, don't do that." she replied strongly, as she stepped back into the rain and away from him. She didn't appear to be intoxicated to him. No blood shot eyes, no slurring of words and she was stable on her high heels even on the old cobbled stones of the road.

"Sherlock, I want to be alone….please," she pleaded, as she seemed to be barely keeping her emotions under control. Her anguish reached out to him and lanced him with its severity. He needed to help her. He couldn't bare to see her hurting. Not Molly, not his Molly.

"I don't underst..,"

"I'm fine, Sherlock. Please, go away," she pleaded, over the roar of the storm as she stood shivering and vulnerable in front of him. Moments ticked by and at his stubborn silence and total disregard for her entreaty; she gave up and bowed her head in defeat.

Then, she lifted her head up and with eyes full of deep sadness and resolution, met his.

"I'm tired, Sherlock. I'm just tired of it. I don't think it's too much to ask, to find someone I could love and love me back. I'm tired of men who never see, me. I'm tired of being stood up on dates. On being ignored. On not being appreciated and,"

Her pain filled words were cut off as Sherlock dropped his umbrella and reached for her face with his large warm hands and kissed her.

He was such a fool. How could he have let his own trepidations of being loved and loving someone back get in the way of...this. He'd hurt her because he had been a coward. He'd been too afraid to reach for what she so graciously offered him. A deeper friendship and a love that would complete him.

It had taken her moment of courage, her moment of complete openness to force him to be brave.

Her body's surprised resistance lasted less than a second before her soul was embraced by his. After all this time...they were starved for each other.

The taste of rain and her favorite lemon tea exploded on their tongues as Molly allowed him entry.

Her hands covered his before they ran through his wet curls to cup the back of his head and pulled him closer. Their kiss deepened and Sherlock poured every ounce of his love and respect for her into it.

Floodgates opened and all his longings, his wants and his needs came rushing through as he finally 'shared' them with her.

His dreams of intimate conversations, touches lazy and sensual, even, frantic one's, comfort, understanding and acceptance, and in the deepest levels of his hopes - the laughter of children, with her.

He tried to soothe every wound he had ever caused her with the gift of his heart.


	25. Chapter 25

This is for the tumblr Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2016

Day 2 theme - TAB spoilers/Canon/Sherlock Special/the Abominable Bride

"Shadows I Live With"

####

"Hello, I'm Mrs. Hudson. Mr. Holmes' landlady," The attractive older woman with kind eyes said, as she greeted Molly and Holmes at the foyer of two hundred twenty-one B Baker street. Molly stood straighter as she took off her bowler hat and prepared to respond in her lower, harsher octave. She detested every moment that she had to pretend to be a man. She dreamed of the day when women would never have to resort to such horrible deception to live a fulfilled life.

"Mrs. Hudson, this is Doctor Hooper, Scotland Yard's Pathologist. He will be sequestered with us, for extra protection, while I solve his case."

Molly knew the moment Holmes "told" her that she would be staying with him for the duration of the investigation, that she was in for a lot of trouble. How was she going to live side by side with the infamous detective and not give up her secret?

Someone was threatening her or actually, him. Someone was threatening the persona Molly meticulously cultivated and presented to the world so that she could participate and contribute within the field that she loved so much, medicine.

The weight of carrying her secret, of impersonating a man so she could first go to medical school and then find a low key, yet important medical position, was starting to wear on him. On her, she corrected herself. She swore it was even hard for her to keep track these days.

For seven long years she put away her dreams of finding love and having a family for the thrill of helping Scotland Yard solve crimes. Someone needed to speak for the dead and that's what she did. She had enjoyed her work with the detectives until the day Sherlock Holmes began consulting. Then her job became a living nightmare.

Not because she couldn't handle his forward, abrasive nature, but because she had fallen in love with him. Her attraction was instantaneous and with that very human reaction came others. Her defenses were on constant alert whenever he was around. The fear that he would deduce who and what she truly was was a cloud of doom that hung over her, everyday. Her attraction for him fought with her self-preservation and that  volatile internal battle spilled over into real life so that she ended up being just as rude and abrasive towards Holmes as he was to her. She hated being that person with him, but she just couldn't help it. If he was to ever say a kind word to her, she didn't think she could stop herself from walking across the room and kissing him.

"There have been threats made against the doctor and no one would think to look for him here." Sherlock explained as he walked up the stairs that led to his personal apartments. Molly looked between the landlady and up the stairs at the retreating back of Holmes and decided she best follow him, but stopped as Mrs. Hudson spoke.

"He'll take good care of you. He's the best at what he does. We dine and have tea at regular hours, well, what constitutes as regular hours for Sherlock Holmes. Mr. Watson isn't here for the week, vacation with his wife, so I'll set you up in his guest quarters for now. I do laundry on Tuesdays and if you need…"

"That's fine, Mrs. Hudson. I do my own laundry and pressing. Really, it's no problem. I don't want to be any more of a burden than I already am. Really. Thank you." Molly said, as she stressed to the helpful Mrs. Hudson that she could take care of herself. She would need to contain the secrets that lay below her normal and unusual layers of clothing as much as possible.

"Hooper! Are you coming?" Holmes yelled from the top of the stairs.

"Yes!" Molly glanced at Mrs. Hudson before she hurried up towards a new nightmare of constant agonizing proximity to the man she loved.

After Holmes explained the workings of his schedule and then proceeded to completely ignore Molly for the next two days, she came to the conclusion that the next day she would be going back to work. Holmes would just have to learn to accommodate her schedule if he insisted she stay under his protection.

Molly had been aware of his eccentricities from her verbal sparring and interactions with him in the morgue, but who knew the man never slept. He was in constant motion, both his brain and his body. If he wasn't pacing back and forth in the living room at all hours of the day or had his head in a book or played exquisite music on his violin he was out tracking down information or clues.

What drew Molly from another restless attempt at sleep was the complete silence of the apartment. It wasn't right and it made her nervous. Maybe Holmes finally feel asleep from exhaustion, but that didn't seem like something he would allow. Molly knew if she didn't check on him she would never get any rest. She wasn't dressed appropriately, but she would only take a quick look to reassure herself.

Her bedroom door creaked as she opened it to look out into the living room. It was empty except for the soft light that spread across the wooden floor from the oil lamp that was dimly lit. She walked out into the room and froze as Holmes' bedroom door was open and he lay fully clothed on the top of his bed. The midnight moonlight was partially blocked by the heavy material of his curtains making his room eerily shadowed.

Molly was so afraid that he had noticed her that she stood frozen in place. She couldn't breathe from her anxiety.

He was stirring and fidgeting while moaning lowly. The uneasy movements of his body gave Molly concern. She walked slowly towards him and his incoherent rambling became clearer. He seemed to be moaning about a waterfall and then someone called redbeard.

Molly could see he had broken into a light sweat. His face was flushed and his head moved side to side as his body fought what she knew must be a fever. The silly man had worked himself toward sickness.

She moved to go and change into her male persona so she could help him, but he moaned her name. What made her fatefully turn back around was the tone in which he said it. It was not a tone she ever thought she would hear from him. It was soft and tender and she stared at him in wonder.

"Hooper," he whispered as his eyes slowly blinked open. Oh no, Molly thought. She'd been caught. She needed to get out of there before he truly recognized her. He could have just assumed it was her in the doorway without really seeing her hair hanging loose and her dad's old robe.

"Water," he pleaded for as he faded in and out of consciousness.

She needed to change clothes, but he needed her help now.

"Please,"

Molly had never heard Holmes say please before and both her heart and resistance melted. She reached for a glass on his dresser table and poured water from the pitcher. She sat down on the side of the bed and brought the glass to his lips. She cupped the back of his neck and helped him lift his head to drink the cool liquid. He was hot to the touch and she set the glass on the floor then moved to get up and prepare him a cold compress.

He grabbed her wrist to stop her. As she looked down into his fever clouded eyes, that were as beautiful as they were when in full deduction mode, he looked right at her and whispered in his deep, satiny voice, "I always wondered if you kept your hair long."

What? How? Molly's entire being collapsed as her secret was exposed. Her life would be destroyed. How long had he known?

"Stay with me…" he mumbled as he pulled her stunned body towards his and wrapped his arm around her slender waist as he laid her down on the bed. He burrowed into her side as he shook from the chills that racked his body. "So-rr-y I-I-am so cold, Hooper."

Molly couldn't believe what was happening. She didn't know what to do. Holmes knew she was a woman and had said nothing. Why? And good lord she was in bed with him.

His body burned all along the side of hers as he hugged her close. She had never been this close to a man before. It was alien and it was...incredible. She tried not to move or bring any attention to herself. Once he was asleep she'd get up and then, what? What would she do now? What would Holmes do with her in the light of day?

As her fear and uncertainty overwhelmed her…she finally gave up. She was so very tired of carrying her secrets. It was too late to deny what she had been doing all these years. She was a woman and for the remainder of this one night she would remain one with the man she loved.

"It's okay. You're okay," Molly whispered as she placed her cool palm against his burning forehead and eased him to sleep.

Hours later, Molly woke slowly to the feel of fingers sifting through her hair. For a second she couldn't remember where she was and then it all came rushing back. She opened her eyes and in front of her, in the shadows of his bedroom, lay Sherlock Holmes quietly watching her as he wound the soft curls of her hair around his fingers.

"I made quite a mess of things didn't I, Hooper," he said as his lips tilted into something Molly had never seen on him before, a smile. A small, soft smile. A smile for her.

"Do you feel, better?" Molly asked as neither of them made a move to part.

"Yes, better," the words hung in the air as thousands of questions fought to come out of both of them.

"How did you know?"

"What is your given name?" They both spoke at the same time as the privacy of the night surrounded them within a cocoon where the realities of the real world were far, far away.

"My name is Molly,"

"Molly," he repeated like a sigh of pleasure. "I've known since our first meeting. Your secret was never mine to expose and it still is not," Sherlock said as he rubbed her silky hair between his fingers. Molly felt the sensuality of it and could only marvel at his obvious fascination with her hair and the incredible generosity of his spirit. He had kept her secret all this time. He had protected her and still was.

She could only stare at this beautiful man as a tear began to fall down her cheek. Then another, and then another.

"Shh, my dear Molly," Sherlock said, as he let go of her hair to cup the side of her face. His thumb gently wiped a tear from her skin. " You've had no one to share this burden with, have you?"

She slowly shook her head no. "No one,"

"You do now."

####

A/N: For my wonderful readers who are interested in the mystery...Sherlock worked out that the villainous person who had been threatening Molly was an angry former morgue employee of the very demanding and extremely strict "male", Dr. Hooper


	26. Chapter 26

"Running On Empty"

~~~~

A/N: spoilers ahead*** The S4 spoiler photos of a delicious Sherlock with scruff has been most inspiring. This fic occurs after the end of s3.

~~~~

Molly sat quietly watching Sherlock prepare a sample for viewing under a microscope in her morgue lab. She could see his fingers shook slightly as he adjusted the glass slide and then stiffly bent over the viewer.

His body was taut and she could tell it took his last reserves of energy to sit upright in his chair. She observed the tell tale signs of his exhaustion; like his curls, a bit messier than usual from frustrated fingers combing through them and a dark, sexy shadow of facial scruff that emphasized the masculine lines of his jaw. How could he look even more beautiful to her under duress and full of concentrated worry?

She knew he was running on near empty. He must be dog-tired even by Sherlock’s standards. Never had she seen him look so worn. After the terrifying and unbelievable UK wide broadcast from “Moriarty” they had all been worried and attempted to find out if it was a hoax or a real threat.

Sherlock had insisted that John secret Mary away till their child was born. He would not allow the impending birth to be compromised and any of the Watson family be harmed.

John had vehemently insisted right back that he would stay, but somehow Sherlock had convinced him to go. Watson's priorities were to take care of his family and allow Sherlock to work.

So it was decided and here sat Sherlock, running himself to the ground, pursuing clues and...checking on Molly.

She knew he could do this lab work from Baker Street, yet here he was. Even with a Scotland Yard security detail posted at Molly’s work and home..Sherlock came to check on her.

Her heart warmed with bittersweet love. She had “moved on” from her love for him or at least told herself she had...but he still meant so much more to her than any other man. He always would.

Molly had immediately shut down Sherlock’s “request” for her to take a leave of absence; perhaps travel to “unknown parts” had been mentioned in Sherlock’s tirad. He had burst into the lab a week earlier, his eyes wildly looking everywhere till they landed on her.

“You've seen the broadcast?”

“Yes, and I'm not leaving,” Molly had responded, her back straight and her resolve long solidified before Sherlock’s arrival.

She knew she could help him more by staying rather than leaving. Unlike John and Mary, Molly had no family to be threatened. Just a small group of friends and two and 1/2 of them were already whisked away to safety and another one of them, sat directly across from her.

“Sherlock,” Molly said as she walked up to him and gently touched his arm. The soft weave of his Belstaff and the contours of the muscles below it enticed her fingers to linger, but she pulled back. She knew her touch wouldn't be appropriate and perhaps deep down she feared, unwelcome.

Although their relationship had changed into something deeper, how many people helped plan a friend’s death and then loyally keep that secret for years, yet they were still just..friends. And the last time Molly had touched him, well, telling him off for taking drugs was a painful example.

“Molly,” came the typical gruff response as Sherlock continued to study his sample and not look up at her.

“You must rest,” was all she said. She knew if she pushed it further he would pull away, maybe even leave.

She waited him out. After a few moments of silence his fingers settled on the counter top table and he looked at her.

Oh, how she wanted to hug him. His eyes, those gorgeous piercing eyes, were so weary and full of a million emotions and thoughts all at once, and she knew he was fighting with himself. Fighting with the need to protect all those he cared for and his need to rest.

“I promise, one hour and I will wake you,” Molly knew she was pushing it with an hour, yet push she did. The man needed to take care of himself. He was just as important as John and the others. Even more so, to her.

“I can’t..”

“Yes, you can,” Molly softly interrupted him and slowly started walking backwards, her eyes still holding his, towards her office. He stood and followed her as she led him to the leather couch, in her darkened office, where she placed her spare blanket and pillow on it. She too kept late and erratic hours and used her office to rest.

Sherlock was silent, but he acquiesced and she was grateful. He must be completely wiped out to not argue with her.

This is why she had stayed. She wanted to be there for him as he faced a possible enemy that had nearly destroyed him the first time around.

A shiver of fear ran down Molly’s back at just the thought of what could happen to Sherlock if Moriarty truly was back. And if it wasn't Moriarty, then this new threat was even more devious because of its use of an ultimate foe.

Fifty nine minutes later, Molly quietly opened her office door to see Sherlock had not moved an inch from the position he had fallen asleep in.

It pained her to wake him, but a promise was a promise.

“Sherlock, wake up,” she said as she pressed her hand on his and nudged him.

He opened his eyes, immediately on guard.

“It's okay, it's been one hour,”

Sherlock rubbed at his eyes and stood up. He ruffled his hair into some semblance of order and then flapped the wrinkles from his coat and walked out her office door.

Molly tried not to let his abrupt departure hurt her. It had been awhile since he had treated her in such a way. She “believed” a smile onto her face and held her head high as she reminded herself that she did good today. She did good today.

Her smile froze as Sherlock stalked back into her office and swept her into his arms. She was so stunned that she didn't hug him. The scruff on his face dragged across her cheek, leaving a trail of sensual heat, as he hugged her closer and buried his face into the warmth her neck.

He took a deep breath and then let her go.

“Thank you, Molly Hooper,” he said as he met her gaze with an intensity that was all Sherlock Holmes. Then he turned and left the room again in a flash of belstaff and curls.

Molly’s smile returned, small and gracious, and she knew her decision to stay had been the right one.


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: I have a healthy obsession with Ariana Grande’s song “Dangerous Woman” and well, this happened. lol.

~~~~~~

Sex and sweat. Heat and skin. Soft and hard. Molly’s explicit thoughts pounded around in her mind as hard as the driving beat of her favorite song. She felt so turned on as her body uninhibitedly flowed and curved on the overflowing dance floor.

**_“Something ‘bout, something ‘bout, something ‘bout you….makes me feel,”_ **

Her hands fisted in luscious, black curls. Pulling, tugging and pushing….yeah. She closed her eyes as anonymous bodies brushed against hers in the darkness of the club. No one cared that she danced alone. No one knew her. No one judged her. All they saw was a beautiful woman wearing a hardly there black dress with her hair loose and flowing down her back.

**_“Makes me feel like a dangerous woman,”_ **

Sporadic flashes of dance floor lights bled through her tightly shut eyes. She lifted her arms above her head as her hips swayed and her thighs slid sensually against each other. She squeezed them together as she imagined long, strong masculine fingers running up her legs, over her silk stockings and blue green eyes peering up at her as cool to the touch lips followed the same trail.

**_“Makes me wanna do things that I shouldn’t,”_ **

Her arms dropped to her chest to feel and savor the weight of her tender breasts. She pushed them up offering them to the phantom lover who danced with her. But he was no phantom, he was a man she couldn’t have. Or was he? She could have him here. In her mind. Against her body.

Yes, she could have him here.

**_“I wanna savor, save it for later,”_ **

Sherlock watched as a wicked smile formed on Molly’s lips as he stood in the shadows of the club he followed her to. His body was aflame and his eyes were riveted on her. Every seductive and tantalizing move she made as she danced would be forever seared in his eidetic memory. He greedily saved the experiences she unknowingly shared with him in a very special room in his mind palace. Ever since he first stumbled across her private midnight ventures to clubs while on a case, he couldn’t stop following her. Couldn’t stop watching. Coveting.

He could allow himself this pleasure. He could have her here. His Molly.


	28. Chapter 28

"Dangerous Woman II"

A/N: This is a continuation of the fic I posted yesterday (because I adore Ariana Grande's song "Dangerous Woman,") And when the lovely mizjoely, leaves a comment like “Hot…but Sherlock, damn you need to make a move…I would read the HELL out of that fic.” It inspires a part 2. lol.

Please read the previous chapter first.

~~~~~

**_“The taste of flavor, ‘cause I’m a taker,”_ **

Sherlock loved music. It could be ethereal and provocative and it...made him feel. And when faced with the seductiveness of the woman dancing in front of him, combined with the primative rhythm of the song’s drums and guitar riffs, he found his feet moving before his mind caught up. And when it did, well, to hell with propriety. He was so tired of watching, of looking and not being able to touch. To taste, her.

Blood was rushing through every cell of his body as Molly’s sexuality called to him like a siren’s call.

_**“I live for danger,”** _

He only hoped she would accept him.

The energy around Molly changed, it was electric and dense with erotic headiness, and she opened her eyes to see the sea of bodies moving around her part to a vision she only ever had in her dreams. She froze as Sherlock, his white dress shirt painted with the vivid colors of the dance floor lights, walking towards her. Did the power of her need for him conjure him up like sorcery of the blackest magic?

Disbelief and confusion, then uncomfortableness of being caught in such a personal headspace, rushed quickly through her mind before fear of an emergency replaced it all. No, his eyes spoke not of emergencies or the normalness of their connection, but of something far more incredible. Her breath caught at the emotions she saw in them. Want. Need. Love.

**_“All that you got, skin to skin, oh my God. Don’t ya stop, boy,”_ **

Her wide, vulnerable eyes made him stop. He couldn’t hurt her ever again. Did she know this? Did she understand that he’d finally given in? He was hers.

**_“Somethin’ ‘bout, somethin’ ‘bout you, Makes me wanna do things that I shouldn’t,”_ **

Could this be real? Molly was so scared. The dancing crowd swallowed them and pushed them close so that all she had to do was take a chance. To reach out for what she wanted. So she did. As she placed her hand over his heart and it met the softness of his cotton shirt and the quivering hardness of his body beneath...the music took over. It was just them. Dancing, touching, loving.

**_“You know how I’m feeling inside,”_ **

Sherlock was overwhelmed with her. She surrounded him. She melted into him as he took her into his arms and they moved. Their bodies understood the language of music and love.

  
**_“Know what I’m doing. The way we’re movin’ like introducing Us to a new thing,”_**

There was barely any space between them. Each move of his skin against hers, limbs molding against curves and his fingers forcefully cupping the back of her head, pulling her forward to meet his lips...was raw. And Molly felt...like a dangerous woman.


	29. Chapter 29

"Whimsy"

A/N: Sherlolly AU

~~~~~

Sherlock Holmes had 16 minutes and 32 seconds to get to his appointment with a possible new client, who requested their first meeting be at their small neighborhood bookstore. The store was located in an older, but recently revitalized area of London. Its eclectic mix of modern and vintage residences mixed well with the bohemian coffee shops, pubs and chic bistros resting cozily next door to each other. Sherlock was an architect and creation and methodical restoration were his only passions.

The light rainstorm made the streets cleaner, if not wetter and Sherlock tried not to walk through the sporadic puddles with his extremely expensive loafers. He didn’t have time or the inclination to enjoy the crispness of the October morning or sounds of kids playing in a nearby school yard. 

The small, gentler moments of life were never on his radar. He was on a mission and needed to keep to his schedule. Life was easier with schedules and structure. Chaos and whimsy did not attract him. Not.at.all. 

His family had tried to break him out of his beloved regiments, but after 31 years of no luck, they eased off. Attempts like trying to get him to laugh or smile, to wear something other than a suit or even trying to get him to do something unplanned were impossible. They loved him for who he was….a reserved, serious and tolerant man...they just wished, more for him.

Laughter, like warm sunshine caressed his ears. His lips instinctively curved into a small smile and his legs faltered. What the hell? He never smiled. People were boring and tedious. Buildings with their exact angles and straight edges spoke to his emotions, not...people.

He looked towards the sound and watched a woman, her beautiful red, blonde hair bouncing across her shoulders, walk across the street with her candy apple green boots splashing in every puddle she came across. 

Her cheeks were attractively flushed from her exertion and her happiness was infectious. Sherlock couldn’t look away from her. He was mesmerized and...scared to death. He never, ever felt this way….like...his heart was lighter. Like it was beating. Like it was alive.

~~~~~~

Molly Hooper, bookstore owner and coffee lover, rushed across the rain drenched street trying to be on time for once. She had a very important meeting with a renowned architect who had a reputation for being very picky with his clientele. She had to laugh at the idea that she might have to audition for a job, she, was hiring for. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, specialized in the restoration of classic homes and buildings and Molly’s bookstore was in need of some tender loving care. 

She adored the old bookstore with its welcoming red, wooden door that when opened, revealed a world full of nooks and crannies of books upon books, cozy tables and delicate Tiffany inspired glass lamps to any lover of literature. 

As she stepped onto the sidewalk in front of her store a tall, severely handsome man, holding an umbrella, stood in her way. His impeccably tailored dark suit was set off against the crimson of her front door.

Wow. He was stunning to her senses. Ebony hair with touch enticing waves, that probably drove him nuts from the humidity, full sensual lips and blue, green eyes that..drew her to him.

“Oh goodness,” she breathlessly muttered under her breath. She did not need a distraction such as this. 

“Pardon me,”

“Excuse me,” they both said, as they moved in the same direction, twice, totally NOT succeeding in getting out of each other's way.

~~~~~

Sherlock finally stopped moving and simply stared at the woman. The red, golden layers of her hair were becoming a dark scarlet from the fall of rain over them. She only reached the height of his shoulder, but he could feel her vibrancy all around him. 

“After you, please,” he said as he watched her eyes dance with merriment and something...more, as she blatantly took in every detail of his person. Sherlock could swear he could feel the brush of her eyes over every inch of his body. It was...stimulating.

“Thank you! And have a lovely day,” the woman said breathlessly, as she rushed past and walked into the building in front of him. 

The fragrance of her honeysuckle perfume lingered and teased him as he watched her through the big bay window that had the name, “The Book Store,” stenciled across it. 

Something foreign bubbled out of his throat as he noticed the address running down the side of the glass. He was chuckling and Sherlock never chuckled. He had to shake his head at the aptly named bookstore and location of his meeting. 

His meeting! He'd forgotten. As he glanced down at his watch he saw that he was exactly on time. Perfect! 

He walked into the store, looked around for the woman and unbeknownst to himself, his smile remained. He spotted her walking behind the checkout counter/coffee station, a distinguished carved behemoth of a desk that ran the length of the back wall. She was framed by an enormous wall of book spines of titles and adventures and dim jewel toned rays of light streaming down from the stained glass ceiling skylight. 

The beautiful ornate wood of the old building and scents of tea, coffee and books welcomed him. 

~~~~~

Molly hurried behind the counter, said hello to Mary, her best barista as she stowed her purse away and looked up as her front door chimed to see the man under the umbrella walk in.

Her pulse quickened as she considered he might have followed her in for...her...and then immediately squashed the silly thought. She typically didn’t inspire men to such, whimsy.

He was very attractive and she enjoyed watching him move. He walked with purpose and an innate sensuality and as he got closer to her, she had to remember to breathe.

“Hello, again,” 

“Hello,” was all Molly could get out as his deep, delicious baritone made her...quiver. Nothing else was said as they both stood staring, lost in each other.

The not so subtle sound of Mary clearing her throat broke the spell. Both Sherlock and Molly blushed as if they were caught with their hands in the cookie jar. 

“Um, I’m here to meet a M. Hooper,” 

Molly couldn’t help feeling slightly disappointed to find out he was here for an appointment and not because he found her irresistible when rain drenched.

Oh, she thought. He has an appointment. This was THE, Sherlock Holmes. She needed to concentrate and push her personal reactions to him aside. She needed to not be attracted to the tall, lankiness of his body or the swirling Caribbean ocean blues of his eyes. Nope, she had to concentrate. This was important. 

“Mr. Holmes? I’m M. Hooper. Molly Hooper. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said as she held out her hand in greeting. 

~~~~~

Sherlock couldn’t believe she was his appointment. This exquisite woman was M. Hooper. Molly. He liked the sound of her name as he repeated it in his mind. The...feelings he was experiencing, because of her, were...nice. He liked them. He liked her. And for the first time in his life, Sherlock Holmes, did something completely unplanned, whimsical and right. He reached for his future.

“Yes, I’ll take the job,” he gently shook her outstretched hand as she smiled at him in surprised confusion.

“Wha..” 

“May I buy you a cup of coffee?” Sherlock asked as their life adventure began.


	30. Chapter 30

“My Eyes Adore You”

A/N: AU where Mike Stamford is Molly’s boss. Early season 2.

~~~~~~

Alcohol and frivolous small talk overflowed at the tedious cocktail party Sherlock was attending at St. Bart's. Boring!

He went as a courtesy, one John forced him to acknowledge, to Mike. 

Stamford was being presented with some award in his field and they were attending the ceremony. Sherlock vaguely remembered John mumbling something about Stamford’s published paper, etc, etc. 

The amount of leeway and access he allowed Sherlock and John, for both professional and personal cases, was truly a gift.

And apparently, one needed to reciprocate others’ niceties.

Sherlock knew almost everyone in the ballroom from his years of prowling the halls of the hospital. 

And one person in particular was standing, alone, at the back of the room nursing a tender heart and a second glass of wine. 

After a quiet, tense argument, Molly's date had left earlier and Sherlock could no longer handle the disappointment he could sense, all the way across the room.

After saying hello, at the beginning of the evening, Sherlock had been trying unsuccessfully to ignore how fetching she looked in her simple black sheath dress and the way the auburn highlights in her hair were caught by the soft glow of the chandeliers above. And he definitely didn't narrow down the exact name of her crimson colored lipstick that drew his eye to her plump lower lip and matched the shade of nail polish she had on nor took any notice, that she had on smokey black and not charcoal, silk stockings. 

All these things he did not see every time he did not look at her.

It had been a half hour since the dance floor had opened and soft musical notes filled the room. As always, music filled his mind and his body with the need to move and sway. 

Sherlock tapped his fingers on his leg as he made his mind up. He would check on Molly. It would be the right thing to do. After all, she was a...friend, and he was recently told that one needed to return niceties. 

\----

Molly looked up over the rim of her glass to see Sherlock Holmes walking towards her in a dark suit that impeccably emphasized his sleek, lean body that always seemed to vibrate with his intensity. His constant motion. His personality. 

She gulped down the last of her champagne as his intense gaze locked onto her and didn't let go. Her heart beat a bit faster as she took in the perfection of the man.

“Molly,”

“Uh, Sherlock,” 

“Dance with me,” Sherlock said, not asked, as he took the empty flute out of her hand and placed it on the tray of the waiter walking by.

“Oh, okay,” Molly gasped as Sherlock grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the dance floor. Well, this was different. What was wrong with him? He must have needed a reason to be on the dance floor. Maybe something to do with a case. Yes, that must be why he had yet to let go of her hand and when he turned, he pulled her gracefully into his arms. 

Oh my, but they were close…

Molly hadn't danced in years and certainly not within such a strong, elegant male hold. She didn't think anything would surprise her about Sherlock, but to find out his affinity for dance, that was a delightful surprise. 

She had had such a disappointing night and date, and “this” surprise...was welcomed.

She didn't care if Sherlock was acting oddly. She was in the arms of a handsome man and being delightfully whisked around a dance floor.

Sherlock didn't say anything and quite frankly, Molly didn't want him too. He would only ruin the moment with some abrasive comment. 

Her breasts and thighs briefly, and ever so gently brushed against Sherlock’s as he swept her into turn after turn. Goosebumps spread across her skin as awareness of him made her feel...alive.

She felt, happy. Sherlock, for whatever his reasons, made her night so much better. He made it so much...more.

“Thank you,” she said, as she smiled up at him and met his eyes. 

His features, that were refined and exquisite, seemed to soften, for just a moment, and then his hand slid to her lower back and she felt like she was falling. Falling, in more ways than one.

Molly couldn't curb the surprised gasp and the huge smile that transformed her face into something even more beautiful as he elegantly dipped her.


	31. Chapter 31

"Connection"

Sherlolly AU. Molly meeting Sherlock at a bar when she was at University and after her father had passed away. The images wouldn’t leave me alone. Sorry about the angst.

~~~~~~

Sherlock could feel eyes on him. He glanced up from where he sat alone nursing his drink and looked across the bar top, loud music blaring and waves of dense bodies dancing and milling around...seeking oblivion, nirvana, sex, and saw her. People of all ages where there. It was a Friday night and students, wives, husbands, the average and not so average were there.

She looked at him, watched him, over the top of her glass that was half full of some dark liquid. Her gaze was intense, like a touch across his skin, and the weirdest thing about it was...he liked it. It said everything and nothing to him. His body tightened, grew warm and a light sweat broke across it as he held her look. Her long, loose hair lay over the silky white shirt she was wearing. She was small and slight, but her energy…it pulsed, reached out and called to him.

She blinked then looked away breaking their connection. He was instantly, cold, chilled, more...alone, than before he first saw her.

How very interesting he thought. He didn’t like people. He tolerated and humored them. It was rare that they...stimulated him. Especially without saying one single word.

She took a sip of her drink then set her glass down and met his eyes as she swallowed. She didn’t smile at him, signal him or even give him a come hither look, yet when she got up and walked away...he followed.

Her white silk shirt glowed in the dimness of the room as he tried to track her through the crowd. He lost her once before he caught the color against a dark corner of the room. He was jostled by dancing bodies that seemed to want to push him away from her. He couldn’t have that. He pushed against the opposing momentum till he found himself in front of her.

She leaned against the wall. Her stillness made the chaos of the swaying drunk bodies even more chaotic till she looked at him. Then everything...disappeared. It was just her and him. In a room full of so many, they were alone.

She reached out and smoothed the palm of her hand up his chest, over the soft cotton of his purple dress shirt, till it met the feverish skin of his neck. Her fingers fisted the curls at the base of his neck and pulled his head down towards hers.

She did it slowly so he could stop her if he...wanted to.

Her lips were lush, plump and oh so, tender. Her tongue licked across his mouth, their breaths quickening as he opened his in response. He swore he could hear her sigh as they melted against each other. He agreed with her. The kiss..it was...so good.

She tasted of liquor, mystery and woman. Their lips parted as her hold on his neck lessened. He didn’t move far. Just enough so he could look down at her face and when he did, a lone tear fell from her eye. A searing pain spread from his heart all the way to his mind. A mind that usually kept the two organs apart, and he hurt.

He cupped the side of her face, the weight of her hair falling gently across his fingers as he wiped her tear away with his thumb was so visceral.

She closed her eyes and leaned into the warmth of his touch.

“Molly,” she whispered as she pulled his head back down.

“Sherlock,” he replied before taking her lips once more.


	32. Chapter 32

"Echoes in Time"

Day 2 of the MOLLY HOOPER APPRECIATION WEEK on tumblr - Prompt: In My Wildest Dreams (Fanworks focusing on AUs)

~~~~~

Molly loved the natural lighting the solarium offered her as she stroked her paintbrush, ever so lightly, across the image that was slowly being revealed as she painstakingly restored the family portraits of the very wealthy and very private, Holmes estate.

She'd been hired a month earlier, out of the blue and by the family’s solicitor, to reside in the Manor house as she worked on each portrait in their gallery. The pieces ranged from the oldest of ancestors to ones as recent as a generation prior.

She was riveted by the visage she’d been laboring over this last week. The eyes especially, piercing and full of the colors of the Caribbean ocean, leapt out from under her delicate brush as the man's face started to come through from under the layers of its history. It was always a pleasurable mystery of sorts to bring lost colors, places and people back to life.

From what she gleaned from the artist’s signature and date, this man was the great-grandfather of the current heir, Sir Sherlock Holmes.

Molly had never met her benefactor, but he did sign her paychecks with a fluid flourish.

Because she was an artist, things like that caught her eye. Unique details that could tell you all about a person and bring your art...to life.

Laugh lines around the eyes, long strong fingers that clasped the lapel of a dinner jacket or the pipe that rested on a side table beside the portrait's sitting subject.

She was mesmerized by the man that was coming to life below her hands.

What was he like when he was painted? Haughty or patient? Was he married by then? Or was he still a bachelor causing hearts to beat a bit faster and breaths to stop?

Goodness, the man was handsome. Jet black hair that was thick, with a wave that beckoned one's touch. High cheekbones that led your eyes to full lips and a strong chin. Every separate part of his face made, one beautiful whole. She shook her head slightly to bring herself back from the day dreaming and her small infatuation.

Her attention was drawn by a movement to her right. Leaning against the side of the open French door was a tall, lanky man dressed in a impeccably tailored navy blue suit with his arms folded across his chest and his right foot crossed over his other. His pose was one of ease and relaxation, but his body vibrated with a barely controlled coil of energy.

Molly could not reconcile what she was seeing and what she had been working on. For standing in front of her was the exact man she was bringing back to life on canvas, yet not.

This was obviously a descendant of the man in the portrait and he was just as...splendid.

“Hello,” he said with a small grin as he stood up and walked towards her.

“Hello,” she replied as her hand and paintbrush came to rest on her knee as she took in every detail of the breathtaking man coming closer.

“Molly Hooper is it not? I am, Sherlock Holmes. I have admired your work for some time,” he said as he came to a stop inches from her and held out his hand. A hand with beautiful fingers that were as unique as his great-grandfather’s.

“You have? Why, thank you,” a bemused smile formed across her mouth as she reached to shake his hand but found her forgotten paint brush in her palm instead.

She set it down and wiped her hand on a cloth that hung from her easel before she shook his offered hand in greeting.

A jolt of electricity ran up her arm and through her body at their touch. She watched fascinated as his eyes, those familiar caribbean ocean colors, deepened into the deepest tempest of gray and blue. Stunning.

“Thank you. I watched you work one day at the National Portrait Gallery in London. You allowed the public to watch over your shoulder as you sat and worked in one of the great halls. Your…work, fascinates me,” his voice, low and delicious, affected her even more than the fact that he had yet to release her hand.

“Oh,” was all she could say as she felt a blush spread across her cheeks.

“I am sorry I was unable to introduce myself to you when you first arrived. A last minute trip of business prevented it. But I am here now,”

“Yes, yes you...are,” Molly whispered as they both stared at each other. It was the most peculiar experience she had ever had and she was enthralled.

“Would you like to have lunch?”

“I do believe it’s time for a break. Yes, please,”

Sherlock’s smile deepened as he helped her stand and while still holding her hand escorted her to the special lunch he had prepared for their first meeting.

As they left the room a ray of sunshine glinted off the “smiling and knowing” eyes of the portrait on the easel.


	33. Chapter 33

"Echoes In Time" Part 2

A/N: Some lovely readers asked if I could continue my one-shot, "Echoes In Time" I hope you like it. xo

~~~~~~

Sherlock impatiently watched Mrs. Hudson set the tea service, that included little sandwiches of tuna salad with a dash of dill and an assortment of dark chocolate and lemon pastries, on the table. 

He had waited two very long months for this opportunity to spend time with Ms. Hooper and every moment he had to share her with someone else, was agonizing.

He drummed his long, dexterous fingers quietly on the armrest of his chair and tried not to stare too intently at her as she laughed and smiled at something Mrs. Hudson said. 

Her face was radiant and delicate to begin with, but when she smiled, as she ought to do when she was in deep concentration over her work, she was incredibly, beautiful. 

Sherlock had taken an unexpected hour off, when he had stumbled upon her working at the National Portrait Gallery. She had been lost within her own world, of paintbrushes and oils, and Sherlock could understand and admire that. He often got caught up in the worlds he created with his words.

Sherlock was an author, who wrote mystery novels and for privacy, he published them under a pseudonym.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock said trying to urge his long time, loyal and ever nosey, housekeeper out of his library. 

Mrs. Hudson had tried several times to coax from him an explanation for why an art restorer was hired and asked to reside at the manor completely out of the blue. But after Ms. Hooper had arrived and settled in; Mrs. Hudson no longer pestered Sherlock for a reason. She now simply gave him small smiles and made sure his guest was taken extra care of.

“This is a perfect lunch. Thank you so much, Mr. Holmes,”

“Please, it’s Sherlock,”

“Sherlock. Molly, please,” a lick of pure pleasure ran along Sherlock’s body at the sound of his name across her lips.

“I don’t know how Mrs. Hudson could know any of my favorite tastes in food, but this tea, contains many of them,”

Sherlock had taken note of Molly’s lunch that fateful day at the Museum and well, he couldn’t help but make sure Mrs. Hudson was apprised. 

After all, he was a man of details, so many in fact that they inundated him to the point of extreme, and it took “special” things to make an impact on him enough to filter to the top of his observations and to stay there.

 

Molly Hooper was that special. 

It wasn’t just one thing about her that intrigued him, but everything. Not just her tools and brushes that were impeccably kept or the lustrous waves of her long mahogany hair, that she had up in a loose bun today, nor the “eclectic” choices of her colorful wardrobe was the clincher. The entire package of “her” did it for him.

“So, you saw me working at the National Portrait Gallery. It’s a wonderful Museum isn’t it? I had been curious as to how I was hired,” 

“I was there for research, but then..I saw, you,”

A light flush spread across Molly’s cheeks at his implication. Making her blush was becoming something…quite, pleasurable.

 

“Um, research? May I ask what kind?” 

“I write mystery novels. And I’m in the beginning stages of developing my next story,”

“How wonderful. I’m a voracious reader but I’m sorry to admit I have not seen any of your books,”

“You actually might have. I write under the name, J.W. Conan,”

Sherlock basked in her small gasp of surprise and expression of excitement. He was very proud of the body of work he had written over the last 6 years and especially so, if Molly Hooper was familiar with it. 

“Sherlock, you write the Inspector Lestrade series? I love it. Your detective is deliciously clever, albeit very, very rude and impatient with the rest of us mere humans,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “I have read all six books. They are a guilty pleasure,”

“Rude? Well, we shall have to debate that, but I do like the fact that you find him, delicious,”

Molly’s laughter filled the library and Sherlock’s entire world became infinitely happier and incandescent. His senses were alive like never before. He liked her. He really, really liked her. 

He would have to take things slow and gentle though. She was too special to treat otherwise. He would court and woo, her. Yes, he would woo her.


	34. Chapter 34

"A Thousand ILYs”

 "The Final Problem" fanfic. This is for Monika (whoeveryoulovethemost). I hope you like it.

M-rated.

~~~~~~

Molly awoke, slow and gradually, through a pleasant haze of lazy, gratified bliss. Her body felt slightly drugged and under the influence. And in a way, it was.

She was under the influence of heightened emotions, intense feelings and having been thoroughly and deliciously debauched...all night long. She smiled as images of limbs intertwined, long beautiful fingers and midnight black curls against porcelain skin flashed through her mind.

Sherlock's arm, that rested around her stomach, pulled her closer into the warm cradle of his hips. A small sigh brushed over her ear as he nuzzled against her neck and settled back into a contented sleep. He liked to cuddle and she felt like his favorite plush toy. She liked that. She liked that a lot.

She never realized how physical he could be. As a person who usually reinforced her words with a touch, Molly had, over the years, learned not do so with him. So many years of staying physically aloof and giving him his space had been hard. But now, now she could truly be who she was. With him.

Sherlock had been with her all weekend after knocking on her door at three in the morning, exhausted, vulnerable and scared that he had lost her. He had hurt her and it had hurt him. She hadn't wanted to face him then, but after a whispered, 'please,' she had opened her door and her heart one more time.

Desperately delivered words of an incredible explanation, and eyes that conveyed the devastated soul of a man who had never wanted to hurt her, filled her moonlit doorway and brought tears of embarrassment, pain and healing to them both.

Molly knew only time passing would allow her to examine the phone call with bearable sadness and pain. And as the pinks, yellows and reds of the new day's sunrise peeked through her bedroom's window blinds the love finally expressed, by them both, gave her hope. It made her happy. He had told her he loved her, again, in the safety and privacy of her home. In a moment that was...just theirs.

She rubbed sensually against the growing male hardness, that was currently parting the cheeks of her ass, with the joyous freedom of a lover. Sherlock was hers in every way and she was his.

"Morning Molly,”

"Morning," Molly whispered back as she instantly grew wet and aroused from the deep, gravely voice, full of pure wicked sin, that rumbled against her back. Would she ever grow immune to the sexiness of his baritone? God, she hoped not.

"Are you too sore?" Sherlock asked tenderly, as he lifted his arm to slide his fingers sensuously down the softness of her stomach.

"No," Molly sighed as one of those long digits parted the curls of her mound to find the wet, hungry core of her. Her body ached, wonderfully so, from his insatiable needs, but never too sore for him. He couldn't seem to get enough of her. It was, as if every brick in the wall around his heart had fallen and he could finally show her, everything.  Every slow and savored or fast and hard love making was a unique and special way of telling her he loved her.

He spread her thighs open with his knee as he pushed her onto her stomach and slid all of his length, relentlessly, into her tight, hot folds. "Mine," he sighed across her skin.

"Yours."


	35. Chapter 35

"A Breaking Storm"

This is a prompt from @sweet-bitsy and given to me by the lovely @penaltywaltz on tumblr.  I hope you like it. It went a little angsty and I modified 'questions' to trivia. xo

  
***Who in your OTP asks the weird questions in the middle of the night and who hits the other in the face with a pillow***

~~~~~~~~

“Unusual street names in London would have to include Cyclops Mews and Uamvar Street in Limehouse, Ha Ha Road in Greenwich, and Hooker's Road in Walthamstow,” Sherlock declared out loud, as he lay on his bed and stared up at the moving shadows across the bedroom ceiling. The heavy midnight rain cascading down the windows only half registered in his ever churning brain.

The soothing sound of a city under weathered deluge was all that responded to his statement.

“And under Cleopatra's Needle on the Embankment there's a time capsule from the 1800s that's said to contain a razor, cigar, a portr, ‘oomph’,” Shock cut off his stream of words as Sherlock lifted the offensive pillow off his face and looked over at the culprit next to him. “Molly Hooper, did you just throw a pillow at me?”

“Your observation skills are bar none,” came the muffled and oh, so slightly vexed response from under layers of silky, brown hair as Molly burrowed her face deeper into her own pillow. Being kept awake with London trivia was apparently not appreciated.

“Yes, I know they are. Now, what does that have to do with why I have been attacked by feathers encased in synthetic..” This time his words were stopped by a sight he would never, ever tire of seeing. Molly Hooper looking at him with love, sprinkles of exasperation and a patience that came only with a profound friendship.

She had turned her body towards him and now rested her head against the raised and tilted palm of her hand. Dark chocolate waves of her hair spilled down her arm and the sensual column of her neck. Sherlock tried to beat back his body’s immediate response to her and failed. He wasn't an animal. He was a cultivated, intellectual man, but when it came to the woman he loved, he was all primal need and wants.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Molly asked with a gentleness that unraveled the tightness in Sherlock’s chest.

He took a deep breath and then released it slowly.

“No,” Sherlock softly replied as he turned and now faced her; his body’s position a mirror image of her own.

“Okay,” Molly reached out and tenderly smoothed aside a curl from his forehead.

Sherlock caught her hand and brought it to his lips. He watched as a bewitching smile spread across her face as he kissed her fingers and then he whispered, “I wouldn't survive if I ever lost you,”

He felt her hand stiffen at his pain filled, agonized confession.

“Oh, Sherlock,” Molly said, as she cupped his face and climbed on top of him. She kissed him with an urgency his heartfelt fear had unleashed.

He took all that she gave him and returned it two fold. As their love and mutual hunger fed their desires it also fed their hearts.

“I love you, too,” was whispered and shown to him over and over with words and touches as he made love to her the rest of the night.


End file.
